Zoe
by luckyponygirl
Summary: Zoe is thrust into the violent and tumultuous world of Alagaesia. Can a modern girl survive? Along the way she will discover who she really is and she just might change everything.
1. Prologue

**Eragon etc. is all owned by Pollini. I hope you enjoy my story and please - review! **

Zoe was lying on a hammock in her mother's flower garden reading a book by Cassandra Clare. It was not often that Zoe indulged in young/adult novels about vampires and werewolves. Neither was it common to find her lying in a hammock drinking lemonade and eating toffee but today was a rare day and she was determined to enjoy it. Usually her time was taken up by her rigorous academic schedule or soccer or volleyball or fencing or some other activity that her parent's approved of.

Zoe didn't think of her appearance as being particularly "beautiful" maybe "pretty" depending on what your definition of "pretty" was. She was narrow shouldered with high cheekbones and soft blue-grey eyes that changed from light to dark depending on her mood and level of interest in her surroundings. Her dark brown hair was thick and unruly; her mother had once compared it to a pony's mane. It was usually drawn back in a ponytail or braid but at that moment Zoe had let down. It fell to the middle of her back and Zoe would occasionally twist a strand of it around her finger as she read. It was a habit picked up from school and Zoe didn't really see the point in breaking it.

Our young hero also didn't think of herself as being popular or with the "in-group" though many would disagree. Maybe it was her seeming lack of interest with gossip, clothes and the like that made her the kind of girl who was friends with everyone. Then again it may just have been that she was Zoe and completed unaffected by the life her parent's lived. She may have more friends than she could keep track of but she often felt surrounded by people who didn't really know her. Who just saw her as a girl with a privileged life made possible by her families' money and connections. A girl who achieved top grades, got into the best schools and had the greatest chance of success merely because of her parents. However, it wasn't all peaches and cream or clear sailing like everyone seemed to think it was.

Her parent's had separated and since the divorce had been finalized three weeks ago Zoe had managed to convince her parents to let her spend the summer at their summer house on Long Island just so she could take a break from it all. They had wanted her to attend a summer camp that focused on the upcoming SAT Exams but had reluctantly agreed as long as she kept working on the prep books. Slipping away to her mother's garden had been one of the few ways Zoe had found to completely relax. In just a few weeks she would be back at her highly competitive boarding school and back to studying and getting the top grades her parent's so wanted. They may not agree on most things but they did agree on the expectations they had for their daughter. Both of them imagined her being a business executive or maybe a lawyer; just as long as it was a well-paying job that would sound good when they told their friends and colleagues. Artist or author? You may as well have said Zoe was planning on running away to the circus.

Just thinking about her future made Zoe's stomach do flips. Her current policy was just to cross that bridge when she came to it. Reading about Simon telling Clary he wanted to breakup was starting to get on her nerves so Zoe choose another book from the stack by the hammock. It was Eldest by Christopher Pollini. Zoe may have thought that the book was a mix of Lord of the Ring and Star Wars but it was less teenaged angst and impossible romance which was a good thing right then. On many levels Zoe could relate to Arya. She had an overprotective mother who was more concerned with grooming her for the life she wanted for her daughter than with actually listening to what her daughter wanted. Zoe shut the book and reached for another. Her fingers slid past the thick books on the SAT and onto another book. It was Eragon. Zoe had first read it with her roommate from school, Katie. With a sigh Zoe settled back comfortably and randomly opened the book. She had chosen the chapter just after Eragon was setting up camp after killing his first Urgal.

Zoe was so engrossed in the book that she didn't notice it; at least not until it was too late. She didn't hear the faint hum or see the way the leaves began shake as if there was a wind blowing. She would often wonder later, like most people who find themselves in similar situations do, what would have happened if she had just shut the book. Would whatever magic was awakening have faded? However, that is not the point of this story. Whatever may have happened then is a mystery to even the wisest of us. See Zoe didn't realize what was happening until the book in her hands began to glow. It was not a small shimmer but a brilliant white light that grew and grew until Zoe was blinded by it. Zoe wanted to throw the book away but before she could act there was a terrible lurch. The world spun and Zoe found herself falling into a tunnel of endless light that was coming from the book. The magic was pulling her downwards or was it upwards? Everything was just a blur of color and light until it ended quite suddenly. Whatever magic was holding her suddenly let go and Zoe was falling through empty space until she hit hard, cold and quite solid ground. Her head hit something solid and blackness claimed her. Just as she blacked out Zoe thought she heard a faint voice say _Good luck little one_ but it could just have been her imagination.


	2. Unexpected Visitor

Starts on page 138 of _Eragon. _

Note* I do not own anything expect for Zoe.

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><p>A small, smokeless fire was already burning when Eragon entered the clearing. Brom sat next to it, tending his arm which he held at an awkward angle. Saphira was crouched beside him, her body tense. She looked intently at Eragon but before she could speak a loud bang went off. Immediately Eragon rolled to side and drew Zar'roc, tense and ready for an attack. Brom reacted similarly while Saphira moved to protect Eragon. Her claws flexed and her tail flicked from side to side as if she was stalking a deer. Then suddenly Eragon saw a girl of all things. She was hanging about 10 feet above the ground. She didn't look quite solid, almost as though she was half there and half somewhere else but with a sudden flash of bright light she dropped out of the sky and hit the ground. She lay still but Eragon did not shift a muscle instead he searched the area around the clearing for any signs of movement.<p>

Silence filled the small clearing. It was Brom who moved first, cautiously, his sword still drawn the old man made his way to unconscious girl and nudged her with his foot. It was then that Eragon noticed that a silver sword was strapped to her slender waist, a silver bow and matching quiver as well as a hunting horn was slung across her back. Brom turned and spoke in a soft voice, "bring me some rope and set a blanket by the fire." After tying the girl's hands behind her back Eragon lifted her slight form to a blanket set by the fire. Her clothes were black leather and her hair was a rich dark brown. She did not look like a commoner rather like someone used to the finer things of life.

"Look what I found," Brom was holding a black bag up for Eragon to see. Brom brought it to the fire and struggled for a few minutes to undo the buckles with his bad arm. The bag contained clothes, small packages of food, a spare pair of knee length boots, a small pot, eating utensils, a small bag of gold coins, a box of matches and three or four books. Gently Brom lifted one of the books out so they could examine it. "Either this young lady is an accomplished thief or she is a very wealthy young noble."

Both Eragon and Saphira were surprised by the old storyteller's words. "Why do you say that Brom? How would she have ended up out here if she was a noble lady?" Eragon was staring at the book, the cover was glossy and it had a picture of a boy in armor on it.

"Look at this book, see how evenly spaced the letters are? It would have taken someone a long time to make this and as far as I can tell no magic was used. I can read the language but many of the words are foreign to me. Also look at the image on the cover; it would have taken a very skilled artist. I am surprised that she would even consider taking it off the shelf. Then look at her weapons. They are beautifully made as are her clothes and everything else in this pack. Though why anyone would send a noble lady out into the middle of the wilderness is beyond me."

"I suppose she could have people looking for her. Do you think she is a noble? She doesn't look like a thief."

"We will have to wait until she wakes up before we know until then leave her alone. She hit her head pretty hard and I need to look after my own wound. I am also very curious as to hear how you killed those Urgals.

_What do you think of her Saphira?_

_I don't know, I've never seen a human woman up close - just through your memories. She is pleasant to look at but I wonder how dangerous she is. Appearances can be deceptive._

Brom boiled water to cleanse his wound. It wasn't deep but it was painful. While Eragon skinned a rabbit Brom tied a fresh bandage around the cut and lit his pipe. Eragon couldn't help but look at the unconscious girl, her pale face was illuminated by the fire. Eragon had to admit that she didn't look like a common thief, her skin was clean and he wondered if she had ever done a hard days labor in her life or if she had always lived in a grand home with servants at her beck and call. He examined her sword, from what he could see it was silver with a plain black sheath. The handle was black wood wrapped in silver wire. A white diamond was in the centre of the pommel and silver vines twined around the jewel. The vines reminded him of ivy and they decorated the both the hilt and cross guard. The blade was thin but long. Her bow was of similar style, thin and graceful it looked both deadly and beautiful. The horn was shaped like a roaring beast though Eragon could not have said what kind of animal it was. There were runes carved around the mouth of the horn but he could not read them.

When their bellies were full and warm, Brom relit his pipe and rested his good arm on his sword. "Now I think it is time for you to tell me what happened when I was unconscious.

Eragon nervously clasped his hands and told the story without embellishments. Brom remained silent and when Eragon finished he sighed. "Have you ever used this power before?" Before Eragon could reply Saphira spoke.

_The girl is beginning to stir. I don't want to frighten her so I will remain out of sight._

Saphira was right; the girl had begun to move. She shifted uneasily on the blanket and her eyelids fluttered. Brom gestured for Eragon to remain where he was before he knelt beside her. With a small groan the girl's eyes opened. They were a soft blue-gray and at that moment they were confused and frightened.

"Where...where...where am I?" Her voice carried a strange lilting accent. She tried to rise but Brom gently pushed her back. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword while his right was firmly placed on the girl's shoulder.

"I would lie still if I were you. You banged your head quite hard. Now what is your name?" Brom's voice was gentle but the girl flinched and forced herself into a sitting position wincing as she moved.

"My name is Zoe. Where am I and who are you?" It was then that she caught sight of Eragon sitting by the fire and then in turn the glittering bulk of Saphira crouched on the other side of the camp. She gasped and her face went even paler as she said in a shocked voice "A dragon!" Zoe whipped her head around to look at Brom; her eyes sparking dangerously. Any signs of fear or confusion were gone. Eragon wondered at her ability to change from one mood to the other. "Who are you? This can't be real, dragons don't exist and who in the world runs around with a sword?" Her voice was demanding and her body tense as if ready for a fight.

Brom sighed, "You are close tovillageofYazuac, just east of the Spine. You arrived quite strangely, a bang and a flash of light. We have been waiting for you to wake up for a few hours now. My name is Neil, that is my cousin Evan and the dragon is called Saphira." The girl's eyes narrowed and she seemed lost in thought.

_Though _thought Eragon _if there was reason to I am sure she wouldn't waste time getting out her sword and defending herself. . _

_Yes _said Saphira _but I don't think she intends to fight unless we give her reason to. How she came to be here looks like it is as much a mystery to her as it is to us. _

Zoe raised her chin and met Brom's eyes. Her voice softened and she said, "Tell me your real names. I think I already know but I would like it confirmed because only then will I be able to understand a little of this mystery."

All three tensed at these words_. How can she know Brom lied?_ Eragon watched her with renewed interest as did Saphira.

"You are very perceptive" said Brom evenly, though his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

"Perhaps but I think it is merely because I am well informed." Her gaze never left Brom's.

"Very well my lady. My companion is Eragon and I am Brom." The girl sighed and her eyes closed briefly as if her worst suspicions had just been confirmed.

In the same soft voice she asked, "Would you mind untying me? I mean you no harm." Warily Brom moved forward and cut the ropes that bound her hands.

"You will have to forgive us but we are men on the run."

"Indeed, one has to be careful when dealing with strangers who could be Galbatorix's spies." She rubbed her forehead as if trying to get rid of a persistent ache.

"Do you have a family or any friends that might be looking for you?" Eragon was too curious to resist asking the question any longer. Remembering his manners he hastily added "My lady." He wondered if he had been polite enough.

Zoe looked surprised "My lady? What makes you think I'm a lady? As far as family I doubt they care for what happens to me. All they care about are their own plans for me." He heard the angry bitterness as well as sadness in her voice. "As far as friends I have loads but none of them could help me."

"So you aren't a noble?" asked Eragon curiously.

"No. Where I come from we don't have ruling class, my family has money but we aren't royal or anything just normal people."

"Where are you from? How did you end up here?" Brom was watching her intently.

"I don't know! One minute I was at home reading and the next I was falling through space. Where I come from, Alagaesia doesn't exist, it's just a fantasy book written by an author. You, Saphira, Eragon and even your horses are in it but you aren't real. I should not be here – this is not my world. This should be impossible!" Her voice had risen and in it Eragon heard her panic, which until then had been carefully controlled. Eragon almost didn't believe her but he reasoned, Zoe had arrived in their campsite with a flash of light and there was something about her that forced Eragon to accept what she said. She wasn't lying and she didn't act like she was mad. Her words sounded outlandish and impossible but then again everything that had happened to him since Saphira had hatched could be called the same.

"Please, calm down" said Brom as he tried to make sense of what Zoe had just said. "So you have no idea of how you ended up here or where this" he held up her pack "comes from?" Zoe frowned as she looked at the pack.

"That's not mine, what's in it?" Brom passed her the bag and she opened it. "The books are mine, they have my name on the inside cover but everything else isn't." Zoe paused and a look of intense concentration on her face. "If I look at this logically it means that whoever or whatever sent me here packed this bag and gave me these weapons. Weapons that I have no idea how to use in a land that is about as different from my own as it can get." She fingered the hilt of her sword, her eyes thoughtful.

It was then that Saphira joined the conversation_,_ broadcasting her thoughts so everyone could hear her._ If you have no way of returning you should remain with us. Alagaesia is a dangerous place._

"Thank you Saphira but I doubt traipsing about the countryside with the only free Dragon Rider and one of the most wanted men in the Empire is exactly safe. However I think it's my only option right now. I don't know anybody in this world nor do I know how to survive in the wilderness."

Brom sighed and said "If Saphira trusts you enough to invite you along then I will trust her judgment. Before we go any further I must ask you how do you know Eragon is the only free Rider or that I am wanted by the Empire? Is it because of the book you mentioned? And there is another thing that intrigues me, how are you defending your mind? I cannot access it. It is as though it is guarded by quicksilver."

Zoe's eyes narrowed slightly and her tone became sharper as she repiled "I thought it was great breach of courtesy to try and access another's mind? No matter I suppose you had but I don't know the answer; I've never been taught how to defend my mind. I know you" she looked at Eragon "are the last of the Riders because of the book that I read in my world but I don't think I can rely on that anymore. My arrival could have changed things because I was never factored in by the author."

Brom nodded and sat down on the edge of his bed roll. "Then that is another question we will have to answer but we must leave it until morning. We must leave early tomorrow so I suggest that both you and Eragon go to sleep. It has been an eventful day."

As Zoe lay back down on the blanket by the fire Eragon thought he heard her say something that sounded a bit like "that's the biggest understatement of the year."

Saphira snorted in amusement and said to Eragon _This could be very interesting. I think I might like this human girl, she seems to have more sense then either of you. _


	3. Chapter 3

I woke feeling sore and stiff. A rock was digging into my side and I was very cold. I turned my head slightly on my rucksack which had doubled for a pillow. I was facing away from the fire on my side and from the dim grey light to the east I guessed that it was still a little while before the sun was up. The world was still mostly in shadow and the night chill made me shiver again and pull the blanket closer around me. No one seemed in a hurry to pack up camp so I just relaxed as much was possible on the hard ground.

Slowly, I rolled over and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Brom was still asleep but Eragon was awake. His eyes had a far away look to his face and I assumed he must be talking to Saphira who was curled up around the edge of the camp. While I lay there I considered the young Rider. He was cute in a kind of puppy dog way what with his untidy mop of brown hair and dark brown eyes that constantly seemed to be asking a question. However, what struck me most was how young he looked. This teenager carried the hopes of an entire rebellion? As I watched him I truly realized just how much more growing up he had to do and how hard it must be to be forced to grow up surround by a war that was being fought for your sake. To grow up in such a way would be horribly unfair. There was no time for mistakes and no time to take things slow. If he failed then there was no second chance and no going back to the way it had been before Saphira had hatched. Just as there was no going back for me...

I turned my attention from Eragon to Brom. I could just see the back of his head but I remembered his craggy, stern face as if I had seen it everyday of my life. It was a distinctive face but it was his eyes that had struck me most. They seemed to contain both ageless wisdom and a hard determination that had never faded despite all the hardships Brom had faced. He did not trust me, not that I blamed him at all but I hoped he would warm up to me. I did not want to always be at the end of one of those piercing looks. Thinking of Brom of course made me think of his twisted relationship with Eragon. Which of course lead me to thinking about how much power I had over the future and how deadly the consequences of meddling with that future were. Eragon deserved to know who his father was and Brom certainly deserved to live. Right? Would saving one life lead to the deaths of thousands or would it have a positive impact. Ugh. I really wasn't up to trying to trying to and figure it out right then.

I slowly pushed myself and tried to stretch out my aching muscles. The movement alerted Eragon and he gave me a shy smile. I smiled back and moved closer to the fire and the small pot that was bubbling away. The sky was slowly beginning to lighten and I welcomed the dawn for I had never liked the night or the shadows. Call me a chicken if you want but I had never been comfortable in the dark. Not even when I had a dragon, a trained swordsman/ex-Dragon Rider and a Dragon Rider right beside me.

Eragon stirred the pot and then asked "How do you feel?" Saphira moved closer and lay her massive head down beside Eragon. Her scales were a mix of blues with the darkest along her back and almost white scales on her belly.

It was very beautiful and I had to tear my eyes away from them so I could answer Eragon's question. "Like I got trampled by a herd of wild horses." Eragon smiled and met my eyes briefly before dropping his back down to the pot. I guess I shouldn't be surprised at how shy he was around me. It was only to be expected, we were so different. While Eragon looked after the pot and occasionally rubbed Saphira under the jaw I leaned over to my bag and drew out a power bar. I was starving and frankly I didn't think I could wait for whatever Eragon was cooking. Especially if it turned out to be inedible.

"What's that?" Eragon was looking curiously at the bar in my hand. A power bar becomes a conversation starter? Oh well, anything to break the really uncomfortable silence.

"It's a bit like a high energy food from my world. Here." I broke off a corner and handed it to him. Eragon bit into it and chewed.

"Strange, I've never had anything like it." I laughed and Eragon's next question came as a complete shock to me. "Saphira was wondering why you seemed so angry with your family last night." Eragon was looking at me curiously.

I began to fiddle with the empty wrapper in my hands. "That's complicated Eragon. I suppose it's because they view me as a highly valuable item that must be protected from everything around me and at the same time I have to live up to their expectations. I suppose that they love me in their own way it's just not easy to be their daughter sometimes." I sighed and tried to smile but failed miserably.

Eragon seemed at a loss for words and returned to staring at the stew. Suddenly an idea occurred to me. "Here, do you want to learn how to read? I know you don't know how and it's not hard to learn."

Eragon looked at me warily, "Are you sure?" "Of course, I'll start with the basics. "

I grabbed a stick from beside the fire and began to draw in the dirt. "This is the letter 'a.' Its the first letter in the alphabet." I enjoyed teaching Eragon, he was a quick learner and by the time Brom woke up he was beginning to get the hang of it.

After we had finished off the remains of the rabbit stew Eragon and Brom packed up the camp and removed any signs of our stay there. The two of them moved with efficient, practiced moves and I felt like a useless third wheel. All I had to do was repack my bag and then Saphira allowed me to tie it to her saddle. From what I remembered from the book Eragon hadn't ridden her yet. I'll admit it: I was looking forward to seeing Eragon's reaction to flying.

When everything was packed and the fire erased Brom looked me up and down. He was holding Snowfire's reins with his good hand; Eragon had just mounted Cadoc and was waiting for us on the edge of the clearing. "Have you ever ridden before?" asked Brom.

I just shrugged and said "I rode with my friend a few weeks ago but not recently. We don't use horse's much for transportation in my world." Brom grunted and helped me up behind him. He was obviously wanting to keep a close eye on me until he determined that I was to be trusted. We rode in silence for a while before Brom asked Eragon about his adventure with the Urguls. I bit my tongue and listened as Eragon explained what had happened. I couldn't interrupt this but still I wanted to. I hadn't realized how hard it would be to stop myself from doing this kind of thing. I counted to ten and focused on what Eragon was saying.

"What did I do? I have searched for an answer to this question but so far I haven't found an answer." Eragon had a look of stubborn curiosity on his face. I smiled to myself; what would it be like to find out that you had done magic quite by accident?

Brom glared at his horse's ears for a minute before saying,"What you are asking about is dangerous and you are lucky you didn't destroy everything around you including yourself!" Eragon was not put off in the slightest by Brom's reaction; maybe he was used to it after traveling with the old storyteller. I was impressed by how determined he was to get answers.

"But what did I do?"

I rolled my eyes and decided to stop this. I would deal with Brom later, right now I just wanted Eragon to understand at least a little of what was going on. I could only imagine how frustrated Eragon was what with everyone withholding information with the vague promise of telling him when he was 'ready.' I had complete sympathy for it had happened to me more than once at home with my parents and at school when my teachers told me to stick to program. I met his eyes and said gently "Isn't it obvious Eragon? All Riders could use it - it's magic. Think about it; it makes sense doesn't it?" Eragon looked bewildered at my words while Brom shot me a furious glare which I ignored. I realized I was going to have to explain a little more so that Eragon understood what I was getting at. "You spoke the word 'brisingr' right? By saying that word you were able to release the magic. If you had said nothing the energy or power wouldn't have been released and you probably would have been killed."

Brom gave me another scowl. I had no doubt he would speak to me later about my words. "How could I have possibly used magic? No one has ever instructed me or taught me spells" said Eragon with wide-eyes.

Brom's eyes flashed. "If Zoe could just have restrained herself this would be far easier! This isn't something you should be taught much less use!" I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from arguing with Brom. After all as my mother had constantly reminded me back home that 'rash words will only get you in trouble.'

"Why? I feel as though I've been thrust into a world with strange rules that no one will explain."

"I understand," said Brom. I waited, biting my tongue, Brom needed to explain this. He was Eragon's teacher and I had interfered enough already. It was bad enough that I was traveling with them let alone teaching Eragon! Brom sighed again and he suddenly looked very old and very tired. In a low voice he said "Magic has rules like the rest of the world. If you break the rules, the penalty is death, without exception. Your deeds are limited by your strength, the words you know and your imagination. The words come from an ancient language that all living things used to speak. However, it was forgotten over time and went unspoken for eons, until the elves brought it back over the sea. It is the basis for all power - it describes the true nature of things. For example, fire is called brisingr. Not only is that a name for fire, it is the name for fire." Eragon was silent for a minute as he considered what Brom had told him.

"How come it came out exactly the way I wanted it to?"

"The fire did what you wanted because you had something very clearly in your mind. Most beginners have to spell out exactly what they want to happen. As they gain experience, it isn't as necessary. The practice is more of an art than anything else. What you did was extremely difficult."

I smiled at Eragon's next question. "Saphira and I just realized something. You can use this magic, can't you?" Brom inclined his head. "I am proficient to some degree. Though I will not tell you who my teacher was - for reasons I will keep to myself. I can however, pass on his lessons." I almost said Brom's teacher was Oromis but I restrained myself just in time - I was going to have to be careful. This wasn't a game that you could start over; it was a game of life or death for an entire world. For the next few minutes I half listened to Brom explain the rules of magic, different types of magic users and then finally he passed Eragon a pebble. I listened carefully as he explained the words in the ancient language. Using the same techniques I used when listening to my teachers in class I filed the words away in my mental cabinet under "Ancient Language." I wanted to learn the language of power, it might be useful especially if I had to talk with elves or understand an oath I had to swear. The uses were numerous and it would help make this journey go by faster.

As the morning wore on I watched Eragon became increasingly frustrated with the pebble. I really couldn't blame him. It looked like a thankless task when you thought of all the magnificent things you could do with magic. Eragon was still caught up in all of the glory of being a Rider. He had been raised on stories of their triumphs and now he was part of that legacy. To be told that he was going to have to spend who know's how long lifting a pebble before being allowed to move on would be a serious balloon popper.

I was more than a little stiff by the time Brom finally stopped the horses. We had been traveling along the river, which I had found out from Brom was called the Ninor. Brom had allowed a lunch break but that had been little more than a short few minutes of stretching, some dried meat that tasted like old shoe leather and then it was back on the road. Though Brom and Eragon took it easy and stayed mainly at a walk and occasionally a slow trot mostly because of Brom's injury and my own inexperiance on a horse. The landscape did not change at all the further we rode, I felt very small and insignificant out there on the wide open plains.

While Eragon started a fire, I helped Brom untack the horses. Saphira arrived and curled up around the camp, providing a welcome windbreak from the cool wind that seemed to always blow across these plains. As Eragon made dinner Brom gave Eragon and by extension me, lists of vocabulary from the Ancient Language. I listened carefully and then finally I dared ask a question. Brom had refused to acknowledge me since that morning and I was unsure if we would appreciate having me butt in again. However, nothing is gained if you do attempt, "Aren't there different verb forms in the Ancient Language?"

Brom regarded me for a long moment and then he nodded as he blew a smoke ring from his pipe. "Yes there are. The sooner you learn them the more fluent you can become which is necessary if you want to be a skilled magician or deal with the elves. I will begin to teach them to you two tomorrow." I smiled and concentrated on the flames that were flickering in the dusk light. Maybe Brom was not quite as grumpy and irritated with me as I had thought.

"Now" said Brom rising from where he had been sitting. "We must spar. I want to see you in action with your sword Zoe. Pass it over and I will block the edges. I'll duel Eragon after." Brom put his pipe away and held out an expectant hand.

I reluctantly unsheathed the sword and passed it over, saying at the same time "I have never used a sword unless you count fencing lessons and those aren't real swords just foils." Brom smiled grimily and took the proffered sword. The blade was narrow and it felt both familiar and safe in my grip. It felt like I had just discovered an old friend who I had known all my life and who had I missed more than I had could ever had known. The feeling unsettled me but before I could delve deeper into them Brom was holding out my now blocked sword. I took it; silently loving the feeling of confidence I got from holding it. While Brom blocked his own sword I tried not to feel like I was going to be sick.

Brom raised his sword and said "disarm only and try not break any bones." Me? I had never done this before so what were the chances of me breaking bones let alone disarming anyone? Too late to back out I guess but still what had I gotten myself into. Both Saphira and Eragon watched intently from the sidelines, probably just waiting for me to get totally pummeled.

Brom moved first; lunging forward he engaged me but I swiftly parried and attacked. Pure instinct took over. I slashed, parried, blocked, spun and danced my way through the movements like I had done it all my life. My sword was not just a sword it was an extension of my arm. I felt alive, truly alive for the first in what felt like forever. For with a sword in my hand I was not just Zoe I was someone else, someone who had power and skill. I could do anything, be anyone with this sword and it felt right. That is what surprised me most of all.

A plan came to me as I was engaged in a particularly fierce set of blows. It relied on Brom falling into my trap but I was fairly confident that he would because he would not see it as a trap but an opening. I waited until I saw the correct moment; just as Brom raised his sword and leaned forward a little I lunged, whipping my silver sword up and around Brom's. Wrapping my sword around his gave me leverage and I yanked downwards. With a clatter the sword fell from his grasp and I flicked my sword to his throat.

Silence fell as the clang from our blades faded leaving only the faint rustle of grass in the wind and the sound of the Ninor flowing swiftly past. Brom was staring at me wide eyed; I tried to smile, to say anything to break the uncomfortable silence but then all of sudden the world around me lurched and I wasn't standing there anymore. I was on a blood soaked battle field, the sky above me was a black and the sounds of screams reached my ears. Then suddenly my vision cleared and saw I Brom watching me curiously as well as Saphira and Eragon. I gulped and lowered my sword from Brom's neck saying quietly "Sorry. I don't know how I did that." Brom laughed and when he finally managed to speak he said in an incredulous voice

"Sorry? You do not need to apologize to me! You are one of the best fighters I have ever fought. Definitely one of the fastest and the cleverest with your moves, with a little discipline you would be more than impossible for a mortal like myself to beat. I thought you said you had never learned the sword?"

I sighed and slipped the blade back into its sheath before I sat down by Eragon who was watching me with wide eyes. I felt very tired and overwhelmed suddenly. What was happening to me? "I told you, I don't know how I did it. I just followed my instincts. Maybe the sword has something to do with it?"

Saphira nudged me with her nose and said _Well fought Zoe._

I smiled and rubbed the dragon under her chin. "Thank you Saphira."

Brom shook his head, "Perhaps, but it takes more than just a good sword to be a good fighter. Now Eragon it's your turn."

I smiled as I watched the two spar, Eragon was talented but he needed experience and discipline. Occasionally I just couldn't help it and I would mutter "little faster" or "watch it!" as Eragon opened himself up for attack with an ill thought out move. Saphira chuckled at my words and occasionally would comment on what she saw. It was surprisingly easy to talk with Saphira despite our differences and I quickly found myself enjoying her quick wit and the frank way she voiced her own opinions.

After his sparring session I gave Eragon another lesson in reading and writing. Whoever had packed my bag had included a couple of pens and empty scribblers that I used to record words in the ancient language and to help Eragon improve his writing. He was a quick learner and both of us enjoyed learning how to write the Ancient Language for it was very flowing and smooth. Just like the language and Brom was a good if slightly impatient teacher who demanded perfection. I loved it and forced myself to work hard despite how tired and sore I was.

When I finally lay down that night I felt a little homesick and more than a little confused about everything but also hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, I could make this work. I curled up closer to Saphira's warm bulk and fell asleep remembering the vision of that battlefield and the screams of dying men. They haunted my dreams that night along with the faces of my parent's who stared at me sadly and asked me many times why I had left. I tried to answer but they did not seem to hear me.


	4. Travelling

The next few weeks passed in a blur. The landscape was plain, brown windswept plains with blue horizon stretching as far as the eye could see. It reminded me of old pictures of the American west where the world seemed to stitch on and on unbroken to the horizon. We seemed to be merely small blips in the great working of things for even Saphira seemed small when compared to vast sky and open land.

The first week was torture for me as my muscles adjusted to the constant travel by horseback but it wasn't my aching muscles that bothered me most. It was the knowledge I carried about Alageasia. It was a constant worry that hung over my head like a storm cloud. What to do? I finally gave up trying to see all the possible outcomes of my meddling. It gave me a headache and my questions just led me round and round in an endless circle.

As if my worries for the future weren't enough to cope with I also experienced strange flashes of memory or maybe they were visions. I never could quite decide what they were for they felt like a memory long forgotten in the recess of my mind. They would temporarily freeze me and transport me to another place. They were never long enough for Brom or Eragon to notice but the images I saw disturbed me. In fact they down right frightened me and while they came infrequently I never could decide what triggered them. The same image never came twice there seemed to be no apparent pattern to what I saw. Once an empty white walled room then a field of barley and other places I had never seen before.

My skill with both my sword and bow was another thing that disturbed me but I tried to not question it too hard. I had quickly discovered after just a few days that I had a mastery over both my weapons that matched even Brom and Eragon who had been using their respective weapons for years. I could defeat Brom who was a master with a sword and I could even out shoot Eragon with my bow. I had no answers and I had the feeling that I wasn't going to get any; either about my weapons, my arrival in this world or about my visions. I had the feeling they were connected, like a puzzle in which I had just found a few pieces and the larger board was yet to be revealed. I could only hope that when I saw the puzzle in full it would not be too late for I had a nagging suspicion that if I didn't figure out everything soon I would miss something critical. Maybe I was just paranoid but still it made me toss and turn at night.

I also thought of my family and to my surprise I began to miss them. Being away from them was beginning to change my perspective and while they still seemed shallow and controlling I began to see that they did in fact love me in their own way. They just didn't understand where I was coming from and I never taken the time to explain it to them. I had never given them a chance to come around and it made me feel guilty. Really guilty and I wondered if I would ever see them again.

While I was dealing with all of my own problems Eragon's training continued apace and by extension my own. Slowly but surely the teenaged boy grew up into a hardened young man who was beginning to understand the full scope of his situation and just how much he had to learn. I guess I also changed, the constant travel and sparring made my muscles harden and my hair began to develop lighter streaks from the sun. I rather liked the change but it also made me feel sad as if I was losing part of myself. I forced myself to remember my mother's face, my old bedroom and the way chocolate tasted. I was trying hard not to lose those memories along the way, for if I lost them I felt like I loose myself.

Brom taught both of us the Ancient Language and I suggested that when we stopped at night both Eragon and I should speak it. That way we would both become more comfortable with the language and it forced us to work on our pronunciation, verb conjugations and vocabulary. Eragon was soon reading all of the books that had been sent with me and I had set him writing projects so he could work on spelling and grammar. He was also growing stronger with magic and soon the rock stopped shaking when he lifted it into the air and he began to take on harder exercises. Eragon's swordsmanship also improved and his blows became heavier, faster and he was able to defend himself longer. Brom and I would take turns sparring with him before we would duel each other. Brom also began to work on my technique. My skill was natural and deadly but it needed some discipline so that when I met a trained opponent who matched me in speed and strength I wouldn't be out matched. Not that Brom had managed to defeat me yet and I could tell that it irked him to be beaten by me.

Brom also had us practice defending our minds. My mind's natural defenses were surprisingly strong and not even Saphira and Brom combined could break them. Their attacks would slide off almost like my mind was coated with slippery oil.

Most of the afternoon was devoted to history lessons as well as battle tactics. For I was eager to learn more about Alagaesia's history and Eragon knew next to nothing about the kingdoms that had come before the Empire. Eragon's constant questions made my head hurt and at one point I lost my temper with him. Brom and Saphira had to hold in their laughter as I lectured him for five minutes straight on the value of just listening.

As we travelled Brom began to warm up to me. He was still wary around me and always reminded Eragon to go everywhere with his bow strung but like a glacier thawing he began to include me more and more in Eragon's lessons. Finally, in a great act of trust he allowed me to go hunting with Eragon. Saphira would have provided us with deer but Eragon enjoyed getting away from lessons and Brom's high expectations. Hunting was one thing that Eragon could teach me and I enjoyed it. It felt nice to be learning useful skills.

The only problem I had with traveling with Brom and Eragon was bathing. I was used to hot showers every day along with shampoo and a washing machine. I did not enjoy having to jump into a freezing cold river everyday but I did it. I remembered reading that cold water stimulated brain cells – it certainly woke me up. Whoever had packed my bag had included three pairs of identical black, padded leather clothing as well as a spare pair of knee high boots, a thin light blue shirt and a thick bar of soap which I used sparingly. I was grateful for the bag but it would have been nice to have a portable shower or one of those tents from _Harry Potter_. Eragon was constantly teasing me about my bathing habits but I always managed to shut him up by pointing out that he didn't exactly smell like wildflowers. Saphira found the comparison to be highly amusing.

Finally after three weeks of travel we came to Daret. The small town was the first human settlement I had seen for weeks and it was depressingly small. Not exactly a bustling metropolis, it was spread out along the Ninor River. Daret looked like a small dark blob against the endless horizon.

I stayed with Saphira while Brom and Eragon went into the town. I already knew what would happen when Brom and Eragon entered the town so I wasn't surprised when I saw Saphira tense and prepare to launch herself into the air.

Quickly I reached my mind out to hers and tried to explain to her what was happening. At first she was reluctant to listen but after a bit of mental prodding/yelling I managed to get her to focus on what I was saying. _Don't worry too much about it Saphira. They come out of it just fine; in fact the villagers don't even harm them. But, if something were to happen... Nothing does so just calm down and be patient. I know it's hard but you can't help by destroying the village especially when it turns out alright._

_I don't CARE! They should be more careful!_ Saphira's tail lashed from side to side.

_I agree but Eragon has Brom with him and if anyone has a head in a crisis it is Brom. So CHILL! I bet you that they come out of there in under thirty minutes. If not then you are more than welcome to launch a rescue party. _

Sure enough about twenty minutes later both Brom and Eragon came towards us. Saphira growled and I made sure to get out of the way. She was about to remind Eragon of some key points and I didn't plan on being in the way.

When the horses reached Saphira she startled them by thrusting her head at them; the horses back stepped nervously. Both Brom and Eragon looked to me but I just shrugged. Saphira looked Eragon over carefully and then gave a low hiss. Her eyes were flinty and the second Eragon dismounted she swept his legs out from under him with her tail and pinned him to the ground with her talons. For a few seconds there was complete silence as Eragon and Saphira stared at each other eye to eye obviously arguing about something. Eragon must have said the wrong thing because she snapped her teeth by his ear.

Finally Brom asked "Well? What does she want?"

Eragon sighed, "She wants me to ride her tomorrow." He sounded less than thrilled at the prospect. Oh I was looking forward to this!

Brom smiled, "I suppose it's about time, you do have the saddle and it would be good for both of you to get some experience."

"What is something happens? I mean if you're attacked or..." Saphira must have used his words to reinforce her point because I saw Eragon wince as she tightened her talons.

I rolled my eyes and said "Do I have to remind you Eragon that both Brom and I are more than capable of looking after ourselves? Besides Saphira isn't about to let you up until you say yes. Dragons know when they want something." Eragon had this annoying habit of thinking that just because I was a girl I wasn't as strong as a boy. It got on my nerves and I took every opportunity to prove him wrong. Saphira reinforced my words with a low growl. Thanks Saphira for helping me get the point across to this blockhead.

"Fine" snapped Eragon and Saphira reluctantly let him get up before she took the sky leaving Brom, Eragon and I to slowly make our way from Daret along the Ninor. Saphira looked like nothing more than a hawk circling high among the clouds.

The sun was beginning to set when Brom finally decided to make camp. As usual, Eragon dueled with Brom before dinner. In the midst of the fight, Eragon delivered such a powerful blow that he snapped both of their sticks like twigs.

Brom tossed what remained of his into the fire and said, "We're done with these; throw yours in as well. You can't gain anything from them anymore. It is time for you to use the blade."

"About time" I said with a laugh as Brom removed the ruby red sword from Eragon's bag and gave it to him. Brom quickly cast the same spell he used to block my sword on his own and coached Eragon through the process. It took Eragon a few tries, but he soon had Zar'oc's edge protected. Eragon looked confident he listened as Brom remind him that he could still deliver a fatal blow with the sword. I leaned back against Saphira smirking to myself. Twigs were a lot different from a heavy sword and I had no doubt that Eragon would end up with a few good bruises before the fight was over.

Eragon nodded made the first move and the clash of metal filled the campsite. I watched from the sidelines mentally critiquing Eragon's blows. Ocassionally wincing when Brom landed a solid blow on Ergaon or vice versa. By the time they stopped they both had large welts though Eragon was definitely the sorer of the two.

As we settled down for the night, Saphira keeping watch I thought about Teirm. I was almost tempted to tell Brom and Eragon where the Raz'ac's lair was but Eragon wouldn't meet Angela and Solembum the werecat. No, I wasn't going to meddle with Teirm because the werecat's advice was too important. However, I was going to confront Brom about Eragon the following day. He needed to tell Eragon who his father really was. I planned to give him until Dras'Leona but then I would for after all who knows what might happen between now and then?

I fell asleep one hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of my sword and the other around my horn. Taking comfort in the nearness of my weapons and the security they gave me.

**_I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always please rate and review! Please remember that constructive criticism is always appreciated but no flames - unless it really deserves it! :) For future reference: I really want to make Eragon less of the "farm boy" so that he doesn't make quite the same major blips that he does in the books (thinking mostly of Eldest in which Eragon really comes across as an idiot at points)._**


	5. Flying and a Confrontation

The next morning Eragon woke with stiff limbs and purple bruises. He saw Zoe bent over a book, her hair falling around her face but then he noticed Brom carry the saddle to Saphira. Eragon groaned as he remember his promise to Saphira. By the time breakfast was ready Brom had strapped the saddle onto Saphira and hung Eragon's bags from it.

When his bowl was empty, Eragon silently picked up his bow and went to Saphira. Brom looked dead serious when he said, "Now remember, grip with your knees and guide her with your thoughts. Try to stay as flat as you can in her back, it will make the flight smoother." Eragon just nodded and looked back towards the saddle which seemed very high up all of a sudden.

Zoe smiled reassuringly and said bracingly, "Nothing will go wrong as long as you don't panic Eragon. Anyways you know that Saphira would never let you fall." Eragon nodded, sliding his unstrung bow into its leather tube, and then Brom boosted him into the saddle before both he and Zoe backed up to give Saphira room for take off.

Saphira waited impatiently while Eragon tightened the bands around his legs. _Are you ready?_ she asked.

He sucked in the fresh morning air. _No, but let's do it!_ She agreed enthusiastically. He braced himself as she crouched. Her powerful legs surged and the air whipped past him, snatching his breath away. With three smooth strokes of her wings, she was in the sky, climbing rapidly.

The last time Eragon had ridden Saphira, every flap of her wings had been strained. Now she flew steadily and effortlessly. He clenched his arms around her neck as she turned on edge, banking. The river shrank to a wispy gray line beneath them, clouds floated around them.

When they leveled off high above the plains, the trees below were no more than specks. The air was thin, chilly, and perfectly clear. "This is wonderful-" His words were lost as Saphira tilted and rolled completely around. The ground spun in a dizzying circle, and vertigo clutched Eragon. "Don't do that!" he cried. "I feel like I'm going to fall off."

_You must become accustomed to it. If I'm attacked in the air, that's one of the simplest maneuvers I will do_, she replied. He could think of no rebuttal, so he concentrated on controlling his stomach. Saphira angled into a shallow dive and slowly approached the ground.

Although Eragon's stomach lurched with every wobble, he began to enjoy himself. He relaxed his arms a bit and stretched his neck back, taking in the scenery. Saphira let him enjoy the sights awhile, the said, _Let me show you what flying is really like._

_How?_

_Relax and do not be afraid_, she said. It was easier said then done but Eragon trusted Saphira without question.

Her mind tugged at his, pulling him away from his body. Eragon fought for a moment, and then surrendered control. His vision blurred, and he found himself looking through Saphira's eyes. Everything was distorted: colors had weird, exotic tints and he could feel how she rose on the updrafts and used her tail like a giant rudder. The connection grew stronger until there was no distinction between their identities. They dived then and snapped open their wings at just right moment, pulling out of the dive with their combined strength.

As they leveled out, their minds began to diverge, becoming distinct personalities again. For a split second, Eragon felt both his body and Saphira's. Then his vision blurred and he again sat on her back. He gasped and collapsed on the saddle. It was minutes before his heart stopped hammering and his breathing calmed. Once he had recovered, he exclaimed_, that was incredible! How can you best to land when you enjoy flying so much?_

_I must eat_, she said with some amusement. _But I am glad that you took pleasure in it_

_Those are spare words for such an experience. I'm sorry I haven't flown with you more; I never thought it could be like that._

_We will fly together more often now?_

_Yes! Every chance we get._

_Good, _she replied in a contented tone. They continued to fly among the cloud, sharing thoughts, emotions and words as they had done for weeks. They talked about everything from Eragon's training to the land they flew over. The morning flew by, literally, and as it did Eragon felt his connection to Saphira deepen and widen.

* * *

><p>I watched, shading my eyes from the bright morning sun as Saphira and Eragon disappeared into a cloud. I felt a tinge of jealously; imagine being able to ride a dragon. It must feel both wonderfully free and exhilarating. I shook my head and forced myself to move on. I could never be a dragon rider; what would I do if I had to return to my world? Brom must have sensed how I was feeling because he smiled at me and said "Looks like fun doesn't it yet he was acting like he was off to his execution." I laughed and felt the jealously ebb away.<p>

I helped Brom remove any signs of our camp before I mounted Cadoc. Riding was something I had discovered in Alagaesia; my parents had never let me take riding lessons because they felt it was too dangerous. I smiled to myself, imagine what they would say if they saw me now: practicing sword fighting, hunting with a bow and hanging out with a wanted man and a teenaged boy who just happened to be a dragon rider and had a mad king looking for him. My mother would have feinted.

Brom and I rode in silence for about an hour before I decided to broach the subject of who Eragon's father really was. I wanted to present my arguments about why Brom had to do this so that he couldn't argue with me or back out of it. I also did not want to destroy the trust that I had slowly built up with him. A careless word could destroy my relationship with him. Before falling asleep the night before I had thought about what I wanted to say and I was confident that Brom would listen. I felt like I was walking a tightrope where I had to be both firm because I did not know when I would have another chance to discuss the matter and understanding of how diffcult it was for the old Rider to confront his past.

I twisted a strand of Cadoc's mane in my fingers and said "Brom, I need to talk to you about something and this is the first time we've been alone." Brom cast me a quick, sharp glance. I looked away and said softly "It concerns who Eragon's father really is and when he should be informed."

Brom stopped Snowfire and turned to face me. His face was inscrutable but his right hand rested on his sword like a warning that I was treading on dangerous territory. "How do you know anything about that? Wait. It's those books again isn't it?" Brom was back to how he was when he first met me - watchful and untrusting. It stung but I kept soldiering on hoping that I could salvage the situation.

"Yes, I know you are his father because of the books I've read in which you are a character along with Eragon and Saphira. In those books Eragon doesn't find out for quite awhile and for a few weeks he thinks his father is Morzan. Do you really want him to think that?" Brom sighed and his face was full of regret and pain. I gently nudged Cadoc forward and continued at a walk with Brom and Snowfire on my left.

"Are you suggesting I tell him? He'll hate me. Worse it will distract him from his training and that is something that too many lives depend on." Was Brom actually asking me for help? He sounded defeated and lost. I carefully considered my response.

"Brom, he will not hate you. In fact he will be overjoyed to know who his father is. I can understand about the training which is why I am proposing this plan. Don't tell him for a while; I'll let you know when it would be a good time but mark my words Brom Rider of Saphira" Brom's eyes widened and his face paled "if you won't tell him then I will." I allowed a little venom into my voice, "Though it would be better coming from you. If the right time comes and you do not inform him; _then I will no matter what_." I spoke the last part in the Ancient Language so that Brom knew I was dead serious.

"So you know I was a Rider." It wasn't a question just a statement. "Do you know everything?"

I looked forward in the direction we were travelling. "I always thought you were a mystery Brom that was never completely solved but yes I know that the first Saphira, your Saphira, was killed fighting the Forsworn. You sought revenge and it was that desire that gave you the strength to kill three of the Forsworn, create the Varden, rescue Saphira's egg and finally defeat Morzan and his dragon. You studied under the Cripple Who is Whole and you met Selena when you pretended to be a gardener at Morzan's estate. I think you were planning on assassinating her before you fell in love." Brom was silent for so long that I began to wonder if I shouldn't have said so much.

"What you say is true even though I am still shocked at how much you know especially that you already know of the Cripple Who is Whole. You will not tell Eragon will you? Not yet at least?" Brom's voice was soft and resigned; he refused to meet my eye. He almost sounded like he was pleading with me and I was more than a little guilty at how I had dropped this on him. However, what else was I supposed to do?

I raised my eyes to the sky; I thought I saw Saphira flying high above but then again it could just have been a cloud. "I won't say anything to him but you must. You must tell him the whole story so he understands; everything from being a Rider to choosing to stay away from him while he grew up."

"I promise" Brom's voice was cold and hard. I sighed and an uneasy silence fell between us. I had finally interfered and I was unsure of the consequences. However, this time the benefits outweighed the negatives; at least I thought they did.

It was midday when Brom and I came on the Ra'zac's tracks. They continued for about fifty feet down the river bank before they ended. The tracks that we could see were confused and even Brom had a hard time reading them. They looked like a confusing muddle to me with neither beginning nor end. Tracking did not seem to be a natural gift for me as Eragon and I had discovered when we hunted.

With a curse Brom turned to me, "Zoe contact Eragon for me." I nodded and stretched my mind out as far as I could. I was searching for Saphira's giant, heavily armored consciousness. I felt it high above me and like quicksilver I slipped through into her mind. I found it easy to slip through barriers though I was careful not to use it often; it was terrible violation of privacy. Brom and I had decided that my mind's natural defenses and the ability to circumvent even the heaviest defense must have been given to me to protect the knowledge I had about Alagesia. Though I thought there must be more to it than that. I quickly informed Saphira and in turn Eragon of our discovery. I felt her angle her flight to the clearing in which Brom and I were standing before I withdrew back to my mind.

"Do you think these are the tracks of the Ra'zac's mounts?" I already knew the answer; the deep gouges look like a giant lizard or bird had pushed off with their back legs. They looked like the tacks Saphira left when she took off.

Brom frowned "I think they must be."

Just then Saphira and Eragon landed. Eragon had his bow out and he was tense as though expecting an attack. Brom gestured at the tracks, "Look what Zoe and I found. What do you see?"

Eragon knelt and examine the tracks, his face was confused, and finally he stood, shaking his head. "I don't have any idea what..." then suddenly his eyes widened as he made the connection."This doesn't make any sense, but the only thing I can think of is that the Raz'ac flew off on dragons. Or else they got onto giant birds and disappeared into the heavens. Tell me you have a better explanation." I snorted in amusement; he actually wasn't that far off the truth.

Brom shrugged. "They aren't dragons - I know that much. A dragon would never consent to bear a Raz'ac." I sighed feeling a bit frustrated, why didn't Brom just tell Eragon what made the tracks? I wasn't feeling a 100% confident about my knowledge on the Letherblaka but I might have to tell Eragon soon if Brom continued to feign ignorance. I would mention them after Teirm but before Dras-Leona. Eragon had to know the kind of enemies he faced.

"What do we do?" Eragon was frustrated and he angrily kicked at a rock which did nothing to solve the current problem unless bruising your foot will somehow solve exactly where the Raz'ac lair was. I rolled my eyes again and smirked to myself as I remembered my mother telling me to be careful or my eyes would get stuck. At the rate I found myself rolling my eyes it might just happen.

I decided to interfere with the way things were supposed to go," What about tracking the Raz'ac another way?" Both Brom and Eragon turned to stare at me. Oh come on! Did I have to explain everything to these two? I pointed at the tracks and said "You're Uncle was killed by burns wasn't he?" Eragon nodded, "so track the material that leaves the burns and you will be able to discover where their lair is." I felt a little pleased with myself and my meddling; I had just given a little kickstart to this whole quest.

Brom look thoughtful, "The material is called Seithr oil and is made from a plant that grows on a small island in the frigid northern seas, in it's natural state, the oil is used for preserving pearls but when specific words are spoken over and a blood sacrifice made the oil gains the property to eat any flesh. However, it does not destroy bones and this makes it an ideal weapon for torture and assassination, any injury caused by it is always slow to heal. It's rather rare and expensive, especially in its converted form."

Eragon looked thoughtful, "If this oil is rare then it would be expensive. Normal people couldn't afford it and there wouldn't be many traders who dealt in it." I bit my tongue and waited for the light bulb to go on. Any moment now they would get it…

Brom nodded, "Correct."

"Do the cities along the coast keep shipping records?" Eragon was tense with pent up energy.

Brom's eyes gleamed "Of course which means that we would be able to find where the oil was shipped which would lead us right to the Raz'ac. Why didn't I think of this? I suppose that Teirm would be the place to start, as it controls most of the trade." Brom paused and I fought the urge to mention Jeod his old partner in crime, luckily I don't have to. "Last I heard, my old friend Jeod lives there. We haven't seen each other for many years, but he is a merchant and it is possible he has access to those records." I was practically dancing with joy. I had done it! My meddling had worked so far, now I just needed to watch and wait until Dras-Leona.

"How do we get to Teirm?" Eragon's eyes were burning with excitement and energy. He looked like was already imagining how it would feel to kill his enemies. I felt a sudden urge to warn him that he was far from ready to face the Raz'ac but before I could say anything Brom spoke.

"We'll have to go southwest until we reach a high pass in the Spine. Once on the other side, we can head up the coast to Teirm. It will take about a week to reach the pass."

Looking like had just regained his purpose in life Eragon went to Saphira and mounted her. He had lost his fear of flying and with a wave he told us he would be back at dinner. To think that this morning he had looked green at the prospect of flying and now all he wanted to do was fly. The pair took off into the bright blue sky, leaving Brom and I far behind.

"You must be very proud of him but at the same time worried." I didn't look at Brom but I heard his pained sigh. I untied Cadoc and prepared to mount him.

"Yes but there is nothing I can do to change things. It's my fault really, if I had not gone to Carvahall things would have turned out differently."

"No there really isn't anything we can do about the past but if it makes your burden any easier he will rise to the expectations." I met Brom's eyes which looked old and tired but I noticed a small glimmer of hope at my words. Sometimes we all need a little bit of reassurance just to keep us going when our burden seem too heavy.

I sparred with Eragon that night. I did not go easy on him and by the end of the fight he had amassed a new collection of bruises. I was not even winded and Eragon had not even come close to landing a blow.

Afterwards Brom and I dueled but it lacked energy as both of us didn't feel like pushing the limits. While Eragon read one of my books I examined my horn. Runes were carved into the silver mouthpiece which was shaped like a roaring lion. It was light and beautifully carved; the lion's eyes were small glittering sapphires and I could almost imagine that they were watching me. I traced the runes gently with my middle finger. Their meaning danced tauntingly just out of my reach; almost there and yet I could not quite remember. It was frustrating. I thought over the image I had seen that day; a city by the sea with a black thunderhead looming out at sea.

I sighed and slipped my quiver off my back to examine the bow. It felt so natural in my hands and while Eragon had been unable to draw the string back an inch it bent easily for me and I had yet to miss with it. Gently I placed the bow back before preparing for bed. It seemed life would never get any easier. I wanted to be reassured, to be told that everything would be alright in the end.

_**As always: please review! I really want to hear people's opinions about this story so that I know I am heading in the right direction...thank you for reading! :) **_


	6. Chapter 6

Days melted into weeks as Brom, Eragon and I made our way to Teirm. We met more people as we drew closer to city and eventually Eragon was forced to wear gloves constantly to hide his gedwëy ignasia. As we encountered more people his flying time with Saphira was also limited. This was particularly hard on Saphira who hated having to hide and catch up with us at night. Brom was anxious to find a horse for me and while I did fall in love with a pretty little mare in a small town close to Teirm Brom decided she wouldn't stand up to the stress of travel and the potential fights we might get into.

We had been traveling north toward the ocean for two days after crossing the Spine when Saphira sighted Terim. However heavy fog obscured our vision until a breeze from the west finally lifted the dense cloud. Eagon gasped when Terim was suddenly revealed before us and I was stunned silent. No city in my world looked like this one; not Paris or San Fransico or New York. Teirm was like some fairy tale city that Disney had invented.

The city was nestled by the edge of the sea which stretched out to the horizon like an endless carpet of shimmering blue. Proud ships were docked with furled sails in the natural harbor. Terim took FortKnox to a whole new level. The city was contained behind a white wall which was a hundred feet tall and thirty feet thick with rows of rectangular arrow slits lining it. There was a walkway on top for soldiers and watchmen and the only break in the wall's smooth surface was two iron portcullises, one facing the western sea, the other opening south to the road. Above the wall and set against its northeast section was a huge citadel built of giant stones and turrets. In the highest tower, a lighthouses lantern gleamed brilliantly; a beacon of safety to those at sea. I wished I had a camera for this view.

Brom turned and met my eyes; we had all agreed the night before that it would be better if I did not go into the city. I was not wearing a dress; which was just not done in this world. Along with that was the risk of being discovered by the Empire. By remaining out of the city I would stay undetected. I wanted it to stay that way; I didn't want some guard or magician casually mentioning a strange girl with a bow and sword to someone who had the power to investigate further. Or worse, report the information to Durza or the Ra'zac who would then take it to the King.

Quickly I slipped off Snowfire and grabbed Cadoc's reins. I looked up into Eragon's face, "Look" I whispered. "When you're in Teirm you might be tempted to eavesdrop. If you are just remember that the person you hear has your best interests at heart. They aren't keeping things from you to harm you but because it isn't the right time to tell it to you." Eragon nodded looking confused but managed not to interrupt. "Another thing to keep in mind is to pay special attention to the advice you are given, it might be important later on." Eragon gave me another funny look and was about to ask a question when I turned away and bid Brom goodbye. We had discovered a cave that was within walking distance of Terim but far enough away that no one should discover it, Saphira could also fit inside which considering how big she was getting was remarkable.

I slipped off the path with my bow drawn and an arrow fixed to the string – just in case. It did not take long to reach the mossy cliff. The cliff was surrounded by maples and it felt very peaceful. The sunlight shimmered on the green leaves that rustled in the slight breeze. I turned my attemtion from the trees to the cliff in front of me. In the book Eragon had first chosen a path that got him stuck half way up. With no Saphira to rescue me if I did get stuck I had to search the base for a better route. All the time I looked I was aware of my surroundings and searching for any potential threats with both my mind and my senses.

I finally found the path about three feet to right of the obvious one that Eragon had taken in the book. I checked that my weapons were secure and began to climb; relishing the physical exercise. When I first arrived in Alageasia I could not have climbed the cliff. I was used to a life of relatively no physical activity when compared to the kind that of life that people in this world led. However, two months of riding, sparing and hunting had made me fit and strong.

When I reached the mouth of the cave I was sweaty and hot. As I caught my breath I looked cave. The back of the cave was lost in shadow and I found the minds of a colony of bats that roosted in it. I turned and looked out to the East. The cliff provided a wonderful view of the surroundings, especially the sea which roared and thundered in the distance. I wondered what Eragon and Brom were up to. Had they met Jeod yet? How big were Eragon's eyes as he visited his first major city? I smiled at the thought of all the questions Eragon must have about Teirm and what 'old friend' of Brom's they were going to be visiting.

Slowly, I sat down and rested my back against the rough stone of the cave. I drew my knees up to my chest and slowly my body began to relax and all the tension eased out of me as I observed the landscape. A sense of peace filled me and I thought about all that happened since my arrival in Alageasia. I had no time to just think about all the things I had learned, seen and done. I welcomed the chance to just think about it with no one around to ask me questions or see the emotions I had kept bottled up for the last few weeks.

A gentle breeze stirred my hair and I leaned my head against the rough stone with my knees drawn up to my chest. Slowly an image of a place that was very similar to the one I was viewing on the cliff flickered across my vision like a ghost of memory. I was looking out towards an ocean and a black mass of swirling clouds. A boy, his face obscured in shadow, was standing next to me. I turned to ask him a question, desperate to find out more about what was happening but before I could speak the image faded away. I was left staring at Teirm and the vast expanse of water that stretched to the horizon. I felt depressed and certain of only one thing – I knew that boy but I also knew that I had never seen him again after that moment on the cliff. His name flickered on the edge of my memory but the more I thought about it the less I was certain I did know it. What was happening to me?

We spent three days at Terim. During that time I never strayed far from the cliff. Saphira and I became fast friends – I even told her about my old life in America. Talking with Saphira was both funny and intellectually challenging. She saw the world in such a different light but at the same time we shared many similar opinions about everything from Eragon's training to the best way to cook rabbit.

Eragon spent most of the time in the city immersed in Jeod's library with Brom who was using the trip as an excuse to improve Eragon's history and battle tactics. He mentioned his visit to Angela but I didn't ask for any details and he didn't give any. The time Eragon spent in Teirm was difficult for Saphira who longed for the day when she and Ergaon could again fly without having to worry about being seen.

Finally on the morning of the fourth day I saw two familiar figures riding towards the cliff and a few minutes later I sensed both Ergaon's and Brom's minds. Saphira was tense; her eyes never leaving Eragon and Brom as though she thought they would vanish if she so much as blinked. I rested my right hand on her side as we both waited for the two riders to draw closer.

When they were only a few minutes walk from the cliff I smiled at the blue dragon. _I will see you later Spahira. _

_Safe travels Zoe _said Saphira. I embraced her tightly around the neck and then I readjusted my quiver before quickly climbing down the cliff face. I paused at the bottom just in case there was someone hidden in the bushes waiting for me or watching my companions (call me paranoid but I think I have good reason) before running towards meet Brom and Eragon.

I was surprised to see that Brom was leading a gray mare. She was a steel grey with a white star in the middle of her forehead. She was very refined and her black mane was long and thick. I realized that he must have found her for me Teirm and I just stopped and stared at the beauty.

Brom smiled, "Well? What do you think?"

I didn't say anything for a moment as I gazed at my very first horse. Finally I managed to say, "She's perfect Brom. Thank you so much." Brom laughed and passed me the reins. I stroked the glossy neck of the mare and offered her a piece of apple from my pocket.

"What will you name her?" asked Eragon from Cadoc.

I stared at the mare thinking, "What about...Melyngar?" I smiled slightly as the mare nudged me in the stomach with her soft nose. Melyngar had been a horse from _The Chronicles of Prydain _- one of my favorite series of books when I was growing up.

"Melyngar it is" said Brom. I quickly sorted my belongings into the saddle bags before mounting. She pranced, eager to be gone and on to whatever adventure was waiting for us.

"Where are we going now?" I asked Brom as we began to trot away from Teirm. Melyngar's head was up and her ears kept flicking back and forth.

"We are planning on going to Dras'Leona and Helgrind but I suppose you already knew that?" Brom gave me a very stern frown.

"I did but before you start asking questions," I glared at Eragon was about to speak, "I did not tell you because I don't want to change too many things. You will just have to trust my judgment."

Brom grunted and Eragon opened his mouth again but I quickly interrupted and asked Brom a question about the verb charts in the Ancient Language. I was reluctant to get into the whole confusing business of changing the future; especially with these two.

Night was just beginning to fall when we stopped for the day. Eragon left for water while Brom prepared to light a camp fire. I quickly caught his wrist and shook my head, "No Brom. We might need to leave in a hurry tonight; in fact I think I might leave Melyngar saddled." Brom sighed and threw his hands up in the hair in exasperation.

"Will you explain this to me?" I bit my lower lip but before I could speak Saphira growled and suddenly I was lying in the dirt with one of her talons wrapped around my waist. Brom was pinned in her right claw. The air was knocked out of me and I lay there gasping while Saphira crouched over top.

Finally I managed to gasp, "Saphira! Would you let me go?" Saphira just growled at me and refused to answer me or let me go. I heard Eragon enter the camp just as I was beginning to wonder if he would ever get here before the next ice age.

"Stop. It's me!" yelled Eragon. _Right _I thought sarcastically, _we know that. What would be nice is if you get your overprotective dragon off me!_ "Oops?" Eragon snapped "You could have killed me! Where are Brom and Zoe?"

"We are right here," snapped Brom "Tell your crazy dragon to release us; she won't listen to me."

"Let them go!" said Eragon sounding completely exasperated. "Didn't you tell him?"

Saphira lifted her claws from me and I warily got up rubbing my right shoulder which was sore from the impact.

Before Ergaon could say anything more I snapped in my most venomous voice, "Let me guess you found an Urgal footprint and it's fresh."

Eragon stared at me with an amazed expression, "Yes" he said his mouth hanging open. I rolled my eyes and hurried to untie Melyngar. Brom quickly saddled Snowfire, cursing under his breath the entire time. I was just about to mount when I remembered Eragon and his broken wrist. Everything was going wrong tonight. Eragon's face was pale and he held his right arm close to his chest.

Brom had also noticed Eragon and said tightly, "What's wrong with your arm?"

Eragon gestured at his broken wrist with his left hand and said, "My wrist is broken." Brom cursed again and saddled Cadoc before helping Eragon mount. "Tell Saphira to fly above us, the Urgals will think twice before attacking if she is there." Eragon nodded and I quickly mounted up. Melyngar danced on the spot and when I loosed the reins she took off like a shot down the trail.

We rode hard for about an hour before I heard the sounds of horns behind me – they were cold and harsh. Brom pulled Snowfire up and spoke, "They've found our campsite. Eragon you ride Saphira – you're useless with your arm and if something happens to us you must not land." As if Eragon was going to remember that piece of advice.

When Eragon was in the air Brom gave me a hard look. "You can look after yourself Zoe but promise me that you will help Eragon if I don't make it through this night."

I nodded and in the Ancient Language I said "**_I promise to help him to the best of my abilities_**." Brom relaxed slightly and then said, "Then let's go. Try to stay close to me." With that we took off down the trail.

We had not gone twenty feet when I felt the twisted consciousnesses of Urgals. Or what had to be Urgals. Dropping my reins on Melyngar's neck, I quickly slipped an arrow to my bow string and held it at the ready. I could not see Brom ahead of me for the darkness was too deep but I could feel the Urgals drawing closer.

It was then that I felt an Urgal's consciousness to my left. I panicked as I realized that they must have planned an ambush but they didn't in the book! What was happening? I managed to get myself under control and I whipped my bow up and fired. I heard a muffled grunt and then thud as my arrow found its target in the Urgal. I slipped my bow onto my back and drew my sword. The familiar blade gave me courage as another Urgal leapt in front of me club raised and I only saw his face briefly before I slammed his club aside with my sword and stabbed my sword through his heart. The image of his black horns and crazed eyes would haunt my dreams for many nights afterwards.

However, there was no lingering for Melyngar lunged forward as soon as the Urgal fell and we galloped down the path. I could not see Brom and it was too dark for me to see hoof prints. Suddenly the road split, one fork went right and the other left. Without pausing or checking her stride Melynagr took the right fork which seemed to lead towards the sea. I briefly wondered if this was the right choice but it was too late and I could hear the Urgal's horns behind me. My blood pumped in my ears and I was running on pure adrenalin and yes, I was terrified.

After what seemed ages the trees cleared and I found myself on a bare hill that overlooked the ocean and Terim far behind with its lighthouse. I could just see the light of the lighthouse but it was just a small pinprick against the black sky.

The Urgals were about to get ambushed by that idiot Rider. He needed to learn this lesson but I still berated myself for being so stupid as to get separated from Brom. I searched the area with my thoughts but there were no Urgals or humans close by. I sighed with relief and trotted Melyngar down the trail. I kept my sword out and I was just waiting for the next attack. I hated how dark and frightening the shadows looked. It was like a blanket had been thrown over the world.

Finally, just as the eastern sky was growing light, I came out of the trees and onto a bluff overlooking the sea. I turned and looked behind me, the forest spread out to my left and the sea was to my right. The trail followed the edge of the bluff and from what I could see it remained out of the trees. I sighed, there was no Urgal or human close enough for me to sense but I had no way of contacting Brom. There were still Urgals running about the countryside so I doubted that staying in one place would be the best choice. _Damn what have you gotten yourself into Zoe!_ I nudged Melyngar forward into a trot. Her hoofbeats were soft and rhythemical on the soft dirt of the trail. I watched the trees to my left for any sign of movement.

All of sudden I felt the twisted mind of an Urgal to my left. I whipped my sword up and blocked his club just as it came down. Had I not got my sword up in time I would have been killed right then and there. Melyngar spun and reared as the Urgal and I dueled briefly. However, I managed to disarm him and with a slash I ended the Urgal's life. His blood splashed all over my sword and I felt the urge to throw up. Melyngar jumped forward and galloped down the trail, after a few minutes I slowed her down and wiped the blood from my sword.

I searched the area with my mind feeling like a cornered rabbit. Three Urgals were coming my way and they would be here soon. I slipped my sword into its sheath and drew my bow fixing it on the place where the Urgals would appear. The broad chest of the first Urgal appeared in the trees and without pausing I fired my bow. The arrow found its mark in the Urgal's neck and then just as fast I reloaded and fired at the two Urgals who had yet to sense the danger. I felt their consciousness flicker out like a candle flame and I lowered my bow. I threw up then and there over my mare's side. The Urgals were not monsters but it was easier to think of them that way especially when you had to kill them. It was a fine line to walk.

The morning continued uneventfully though I never lowered my guard and I kept Melyngar in either a slow trot or a fast walk. Finally at midday I came to a stream. The water was clear and very cold; I dismounted and let my mare drink her fill. I was weary and covered in grime but I didn't feel safe enough to stop for a bath.

My plan was to continue on to Dras'Leona and if I was lucky I would meet up with Eragon and Brom there. The name of the inn they would stay at was The Green Chestnut if I remembered correctly. I remounted and continued on feeling slightly more hopeful - I was not helpless and neither was I completely lost, I could find my way back to Eragon and Brom. Or at least I could follow the trouble they caused...

Brom rubbed his aching temples. It wasn't surprising that he had a crashing headache after last night. Not only was Eragon unconscious but Zoe was lost, potentially dead or injured and he was hunting Urgals. Could it get any worse? Saphira turned her head and met his eyes, _Where do you want to go Brom? There are no Urgals close to us._

_There is a group of Urgals heading east or at least that was the last place I sensed them._ Saphira angled her flight in the general direction of the ocean; with a sigh Brom leaned against his head against Saphira's warm scales and allowed himself to relax. The last few hours had been stressful in the extreme and it would continue to be stressful until the last of the Urgals were dead and he had found Zoe. Eragon was still out like a light and probably would remain that way for the next few days. He had been a fool and Brom a bigger one not to spend more time drilling him in using his power wisely. Then there was Zoe, who somehow during the night had become separated from him. She was more than capable of looking after herself but he was worried for her. Despite how easily she outmatched both he and Eragon in her speed and strength she was young and unfamiliar with Alagaesia. She unlike Eragon was more than capable of thinking clearly in a dangerous situation. Added to the problem was when he should tell Eragon the truth about his family, though that would have to way until he forged some sense into the boy's brain. Saphira began to circle the trees where they suspected the Urgals may be hiding but Brom could not sense their minds.

_What do you think Brom? Should I land and you can search the area?_ It was hard for Brom to be connected to Saphria, it reminded him too much of his own dead dragon.

_Yes, do you see that trail that follows the bluff? Land there, you should be able to see to the North and South without anything being able to sneak up on you from behind._ Saphira opened her wings and landed on the hard dry ground. Brom slowly dismounted and drew his sword watching carefully for any signs of movement. He was just about to enter the trees when he spotted the first dead Urgal, it was lying on its back with am arrow through its throat. Two others lay beside it; all of them had been shot with the same type of arrow. It was then that he realized that the arrows looked exactly like Zoe's. Saphira snaked her head around Brom and examined the bodies.

_Those are Zoe's arrows. She past this way a couple of hours ago. _The dragon prepared herself to fly – ready to find their lost companion as soon as possible. Brom rested a hand on her shoulder. The dragon paused and turned her head to look at him; her dark blue eyes were full of imaptient anxiety.

_Indeed Saphira but it also means that she would have kept going rather than wait for another group of Urgals to attack her. These have been dead at least six hours. She could be miles away by now and this trail will lead her into a more heavily populated area. You and I cannot search for her without drawing attention to ourselves. _

_We cannot allow her to continue when she has no idea of where we are going. _Saphira snapped her jaws angrily. Brom remembered his dragon doing exactly the same thing when she had been frustrated. He felt a stab of pain at the memory; you would have thought he had gotten used to the pain and the loneliness but no, he never had. Never would probably.

_Zoe knows where we are going Saphira; you know that as well as I. It was she who started us in the right direction by telling us of the connection with the oil and she knows things that many who were born in Alagaesia do not. It would not be difficult for her to get directions to Dras'Leona and in some ways she is better prepared for this world than even I. Her swordsmanship rivals even the elves and she thinks clearly and logically._

_Still, is there nothing we can do? _

_Yes, we can finish hunting these Urgals before they begin hunting her but beyond that we will just have to keep an eye out for her on the way to Dras'Leona. If we are lucky we will meet her on the road or in the city. _Or at least, he hoped they would. He did not want another death on his consciousness.


	7. Travel

Brom's strict training filled nearly every hour as the days slowly blended into weeks. Sparring, memorizing, history and thinking clearly in battle were all prominently featured topics that took up most, if not all, of Eragon's waking moments. However, in the brief breaks or the times he found himself lying awake and gazing at the stars, Eragon found himself missing Zoe more and more. He missed reading with her, sparring, learning from Brom with her and practicing the Ancient Language during the evening. She had been an addition to his life he hadn't fully appreciated until she was gone. Was it her open wonder at his tacking skills? Was it her wry sense of humor? Or was it, simply, her steady presence in a world that seemed to be constantly shifting before him?

He tried to tell himself in those moments that she would make it. They would see each other in Dras'Leona and continue on from there. He tried, like anyone would in his position, not to think about the very real possibility that Zoe would not make it to Dras'Leona – they had seen no sign of her along the road and, while Brom thought she might travel further down the coast and then cross the mountains, it was only a guess. The old man, if he felt any worry for their companion, did not speak of it and the topic went undiscussed between father and son.

Because of the splint on his right hand which he had earned during his ill-conceived fight with the Urgals, Eragon was forced to use his left hand when he sparred and practiced his writing. Before long he could duel as well with his left hand as he could with his right – the challenge of it proving to be just what he needed to keep his thoughts off Zoe. Writing with his left hand, however, proved to be a far sight more difficult than he had originally imagined it could be. He just never could get his hand to do what he wanted it to and it amused Saphira endlessly. The letters would turn out spikey and larger then he wanted. Eventually he gave up on it for the task seemed maddeningly frustrating.

And through this, they kept on traveling. Following the swift flowing Torak River southeast, along the edge of the Spine they watched as the river grew in size as tributaries flowed into it from every side, feeding its bulging girth. Along the river towns and villages began to spring up and they had to be careful about concealing their identities. A task made more difficult for Eragon because of the posters which featured his face in every single village, no matter how small it was.

When the River was over a league wide, Brom pointed at the silt islands that dotted the water. "We're close to LeonaLake now," he said. "It's only about two leagues away."

"Do you think we can get there before nightfall?" asked Eragon.

"We can try."

Dusk soon made the trail hard to follow, but the sound of the river on their side guided them and, when the moon rose, the bright disk provided enough light to see what lay ahead. The sight would stay with Eragon for his whole life. It was not the first lake he had seen, for there had been many beautiful ones hidden within the steep valleys of the Spine, but it was the largest and, in the silver moonlight, it was the most enchanting.

Leona Lake looked like a thin sheet of silver beaten over the land. Aside from a bright strip of moonlight reflecting off the surface, it was indistinguishable from the ground. He wondered, with an inner laugh, if he ran down to it if he would be able to run across it as if it were solid and not liquid. Saphira was on the rocky shore, fanning her wings to dry them. Her scales reflected the glittering water and she seemed even more beautiful than usual to his eyes.

Eragon greeted her and she said_, The water is lovely-deep, cool, and clear._

_Maybe I'll go swimming tomorrow._ In an effort to joke he said to her,_ Remember how Zoe was always going on about being clean?_

_Yes and she had a point you do smell rather...unfortunate. _Eragon shook his head at his dragon and they set up camp under a stand of trees. For once Brom did not pull out the sword and challenge Eragon to a spar and they ate in silence, both lost in thought.

Eragon was just preparing to sleep when he asked _Saphira._

_Yes little one. _

_Do you think we will see Zoe again?_

Saphira blew a puff of smoke over Eragon's head and said _I think we will. Zoe would not allow anything to come in between her and accomplishing her goals. Have some faith little one. _Eragon sighed but he was too tired to think too long on the matter and in a few minutes he was soon asleep. He fell asleep looking up at the stars and imaging that, in the dark space between the glimmering orbs, he could see the softly smiling face of one of his dearest friends.

* * *

><p>I had arrived at a cross roads.<p>

Trees and dense vegetation surrounded me and the trail was just wide enough for a wagon or carriage. It was not that I did not know what route to take, it was the left one, but that it was currently blocked by a rather odd and eccentric looking middle aged woman and a boy of about twelve. She was standing, in the middle of the road, as if considering what route to take and I was just about to try and move Melynlas around her when she turned and gave me a brilliant smile.

The sight of her made me gasp in shock and sudden recognition.

The woman's clothes were travel worn but they looked to be of good quality. She had a sword was hanging from her hip and a travelling pack on her shoulders. With her wildly curling hair and the mischievous glint in her eyes she was quite striking if slightly frightening. _This _was Angela the Herbalist and, of course, the young boy standing beside her with a feral grin upon his face was really not a boy at all. That was, in fact, Solembum the werecat. Her mind was guarded by walls of iron and there was an inexplicable feeling of power, of strength and of mystery that hung around her.

"A fellow traveler I presume?" asked Angela in a cherry voice.

Had I not known that Solembum was actually a werecat I would have thought he was just a young boy. His feral grin was unnerving and it put me on my guard. I knew just how dangerous the Herbalist and the werecat were...what if she found out who I was? In my time traveling alone I had quickly grown accustomed to evading questions, patrols of Empire soldiers, the occasional merchant caravan and any villagers I encountered, but Angela would be a hard one to fool.

I was still riding along the coast and would soon have to cross the mountains which would then drop me down to Leona Lake. As I had traveled spring had come to Alagaesia - sooner to the coast where most of the precipitation came as rain not snow. Melynlas had enjoyed searching for the little bits of green grass that were starting to poke through and her coat was beginning to lose its rough, winter length as her silky summer one came in. Because the road I followed ran so close to the sea, I even took my mare for a canter down the soft sandy beaches and satisfied an old-time childhood whim.

I had also enjoyed the milder weather. It became easier to find edible berries and roots, but the downfall was the cold rain that would occasionally be blown in from the sea and drench everything with cold water. When the squalls would become too unbearable to travel in I was forced to stop and find a somewhat dry camping space in a clump of trees or under an overhang of rock. Since being separated from Brom and Eragon, I travelled mainly by night depending on how busy the trail was. I had rather enjoyed the silence and the chance to perfect my archery and hunting skills, but there were times when the loneliness grew unbearable. I missed Eragon's constant questions, Brom's lessons and Saphira's company, but I had no choice but to grow used to nothing more than the company of my horse and my own thoughts.

According to the merchant I had spoken with and bartered for a new cloak from, when I dropped down to the Lake I would need to take the ferry across the Lake. Apparently it came every other day and it was usually used by merchants and the occasional traveler coming from the coast. I would have to pass through a small village and use a few of my gold coins for passage, but it was faster than traveling around the Lake which would take upwards of three to four weeks of hard riding. From my current location, I had guessed that I must be just a few weeks travel from Brom's old village of Kuasta that was just a little further up the coast.

But I was currently at a crossroads and facing a very difficult to fool wielder of magic.

"I am," I said simply. With a little bit of luck Angela would not demand better responses. It was a feeble hope.

"Well, what is your destination?" asked Angela impatiently. Her eyes took in my clothes and the black cloak that I had pulled around to cover my sword.

I was silent for a moment considering my answer before saying with a shrug, "I had thought of journeying to Dras'Leona, but that is subject to change. I go where the winds blow and there is a chance of adventure. What about you and your companion?"

Melynlas shifted underneath me and I hoped that by twisting the question back to the Herbalist I could escape without having to go into all the details. Solembum was staring at me and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew I was withholding a great deal. It felt as if the werecat stripped away all my armor and exposed all my secrets with just one look. It was unsettling; very unsettling and I could not wait to escape this claustrophobic clearing where the road divided.

Angela smiled cheerily, "I am of the same mindset when it comes to travel. Where the wind goes and adventure is sure to be found." Twirling one of her many scarves around a finger she asked, "Why, in the name of fluffy hedgehogs, are you thinking of traveling to that city? It is hardly a pleasant vacation destination unless you want to visit their monument to evil and see all the worst kind of people." Angela gave me a serious look and I could not help but inwardly agree with her. If I had a choice I would not travel to Dras'Leona. However, it wasn't as if I had much of one: Eragon and Brom were going there.

I shrugged again as if to say 'It is so unfortunate isn't it?' With a casual smile I said out loud, "I agree with you, but unfortunately I was hoping to meet with some old friends and leave as soon as I could."

It was then, to my surprise, that Angela stepped forward suddenly and took Melynlas's reins in one hand to hold her still. My hand unconsciously slipped to my sword hilt and I automatically felt myself prepare to fight, but the Herbalist just shook her head and said in a quiet voice that I had lean down to hear.

"Do you really think I don't know who you are?" Her eyes burned with intensity as they met my own and I was frozen in place by them, unable to move or look away. "Your arrival sent shockwaves throughout the very fabric of the world. You are lucky that that accursed King isn't in touch with the land or else he would have flown out on his dragon looking for you." She rested one hand over mine and the touch sent shivers through me as she continued, "I can see the mark of power on you. Use that power wisely, girl. For you, Zoe, is someone who has been cursed or gifted – if you want to look at it that way – with knowledge of the future. You had better not destroy the world with your meddling for if you do then you will answer to me_._"

The look that she gave me chilled me to my bones and her hand tightened around my own until it hurt. I realized, quite suddenly, that the books really hadn't explained to readers just how dangerous the Herbalist really was. Angela was many things but she kept it hidden under a mask of eccentricity and odd habits. She could destroy me with a snap of her fingers. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if she could destroy Galabtorix just as easily if she really put her mind to it.

I gathered me courage and, somehow, managed to find my voice which had temporarily deserted me. Softly, my voice unsure and sounding so young to my ears, I did my best to put words to my feelings. "I understand all too well. I can only hope that my choices and my very arrival have not changed things irrevocably. Can you tell me why I was sent to this land?" I felt a bit of desperate hope - maybe Angela would have answers for me. Just maybe...I waited with bated breath.

The Herbalist shook her head and gave a small laugh as if the question amused her. "No, your purpose has yet to be discovered. Remember Zoe that sometimes people have to die. You can't always save them." I felt a cold chill grow within me and her next words did nothing to ease it. "Perhaps there is hope for you after all - you seem a great deal clearer headed and refined than that Rider. Now off you go! We haven't all day."

Before I could respond she gave Melynlas a smack on her rump and my mare bolted away all too eager to leave the Herbalist and her odd companion behind. By the time I got her back under control Angela and Solembum were far behind and I had no doubt that if I returned to the crossroads they would be gone. They seemed to have been waiting for me, as if Angela had known the road I chose to take and how quickly I would travel upon it.

_Sometimes people have to die. _

What had she meant by that? Eragon was right; the Hebalist seemed to leave you with more questions than answers. It was as though she purposely enjoyed making you feel lost in a wilderness of possible meanings and ambiguous statements.

I clucked Melynlas into a trot and tried to keep my thoughts occupied on other, less troubling, thoughts but to avail. I kept thinking about Angela and her words. Did she know that Brom would die saving Eragon? Probably for, after all, Angela was a true seer. She must have guessed that I would plan on rescuing him and decided to warn me against changing what had to be. Or was that not what she had meant? Had she been talking of other lives? Other people who I could not save?

It was giving me a headache.

Alagaesia in general gave me a headache.

I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that three days of travel past without me really being aware of my surroundings. That was a foolish mistake on my part. It was my distraction that proved instrumental in my near capture. I had forgotten just how dangerous this world was and how even a simple mistake can lead to either your death or your capture. I was no longer just a simple American girl, but a potential enemy to a mad King who had no qualms about killing anyone who threatened his position. In my isolation from the world and the quiet weeks of travel that had gone by so peacefully, I had forgotten. This was no fairytale in which you woke up or were saved by a knight in shining armor before you got killed.

I had just passed through the mountain pass and was about three days from Leona Lake when I choose a camp in a small hallow after a long night of travel. It was well sheltered, but I did not search with my mind to see if there was anyone camped close by. Instead I unsaddled my mare and sat down on the hard dry ground while Melynlas ate some of the sparse grass that grew between the gnarled trees. While I sat there I played with stick as I considered my options along with the very real possibility of destroying everything because of my meddling. I was weary, but sleep refused to find me easily and any that I had found was so restless that it really wasn't like sleep at all.

I was also thinking of the sudden disappearance of my visions. I had not had one since separating from Brom and Eragon and it both troubled and comforted me. Why had they suddenly stopped coming? It was if something about Brom and Eragon triggered them or maybe it had nothing to do with my friends. I didn't know what to think or do – about anything. All I knew was I no longer saw those vivid images and there were no more equally vivid dreams.

Melynlas was standing a little ways away grazing and the sky was just beginning to lighten to the East. A warm breeze ruffled my hair and I leaned back against a tree feeling the tension slowly leave my shoulders. It would be nice to be back with the others, to have their company distract me from these never ending questions which I had, currently, too much time to think about.

There was a sudden snap.

The noise was so sudden and unexpected that I jumped and my mare spooked, her head flying up as she flared her nostrils. Suddenly I was on high alert and every single horror story I had ever read started playing through my mind along with the very real possibility that I was about to be attacked. I stretched my mind out and realized, to my horror, that there was a group of three slavers watching me. I could sense their evil intentions – the unspeakable things they would like to do to me – and I almost, not quite but almost, screamed out for help.

I mastered my panic, horror and anger at my stupidity. Adrenalin was beginning to course through my veins and it made it suddenly easier to think and to act as I had to. I rose, careful not to make a noise, and slipped my sword from its sheath. The well-oiled blade did not make a sound as it slid free and settled comfortingly in my hand. Just holding it made me feel more confident and it seemed to sharpen my senses. It was then that the men acted for they had realized that I was aware of them.

And so began my very first true fight with people of my own race.

They lunged from the shadows with their blades drawn. I whipped my sword up and engaged them. From the brief glimpses I got of their minds I could feel their surprise and shock at my skill. They suddenly realized that attacking me was maybe not the greatest idea. But it was too late for them to back out and, despite their shock, they were fairly certain that they could overpower me if they fought their hardest.

As we exchanged blows, I came to find that their movements were slow and clumsy though they made up for it with brute strength and the simple fact that outnumbered me. The slavers used their swords like clubs while I was more used to more flow and grace where the true danger lay in being out-thought by a clever opponent. However, this was no sparring match but, rather, my first true fight and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. As I fought my mind went on autopilot: parry, lunge, twirl, jab, back and then forward.

Dead.

On to the next.

I killed my first man without realizing it until I nearly tripped over him. It was an amateur mistake and, had I been facing a truly skilled opponent, they would have disarmed me then and there. But I was so focused, so intent on the movements and the fighting that I had, unconsciously, not realized it and shock nearly made me drop my sword. Some part of me, the part fueled by adrenalin that had not gone numb by this terrifying act, made my body back up quickly which saved me from being beheaded.

That part of my brain made my body continue the fight. For, in such a situation, there is no time for stopping or considering what just happened. It is after the fight that you look back and sometimes throw up or burst into tears or well you get the idea. There is no time in between for trying to digest everything that just happened.

On to the next.

I want to be sick.

The rest of the fight went by in a blur of jabs, lunges and parries. It was only when I stood panting in the middle of the clearing that I realized my sword was bloody, the three scruffy men were dead in front of me and that the fight was over.

It was over.

I felt sick and I could not tear my eyes away from the three bodies. I had killed.

_What have I done?_ I thought to myself. They may have had families and while they had been thinking of doing some rather unspeakable things to me it still felt wrong – horribly wrong – to have killed them. It didn't matter that I had acted in self-defense. I had killed and it seemed as if some part of me had been broken - my rose tinted glasses were shattered and I saw the world with clear eyes. It was not a pretty world in fact it was cruel and ruthless. I had known this but it felt as if the message had just been driven home. It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of icy water on me. I had convinced myself that I would never have to deal with something like this – somehow I had – and allowed myself to be caught up in an adventure. I had conveniently forgotten the fact that I would have to kill other people. I had been a romantic fool to think that this would not be part of following Eragon around.

I would go to war.

I would kill again and again.

This was what I had signed myself up for and I had conveniently forgotten it in the weeks of travel, the fun times, the laughter, the slowly growing friendship between us and the isolation that the wild landscape provided from such hard truths.

I suddenly realized that this is how soldiers must feel - why they come home so changed. I gazed at my bloodstained blade and, finally, I just sat down and stared at my hands. A distant part of me urged me to leave before anyone found me, but I felt numb. It was then that the soft muzzle of Melynlas nudged me. The mare blew in my face and nudged me again. A bit of life came back to me and I rose. My motions felt mechanical and I avoided looking at the dead bodies. Instead I cleaned my sword on some grass and saddled my mare.

I could not go home now. I had changed so much and, after all of this, could I ever face my ordinary parents after this? Could I look them in the face and say: I learned how to fight with a sword, fire a bow, defend my mind and I have killed? No…no I probably couldn't.

I forced myself to examine the reasons behind my actions as I walked Melynlas down the trail. Were they good enough? Yes. They actually were and deep down I knew they were. Would I have do this kind of thing again? Yes. Could I live with it? Maybe. No – scratch that – I could if I did it in self-defense and because it was my last option. What was I fighting for? Was it good enough? Yes. It was. I was fighting for the freedom of Alagaesia and for the slim chance of returning home to my family. I was fighting because Eragon was my friend and he needed all the help I could give him. I twisted Melynlas's mane around my fingers and leaned against her as she walked down the trail - walking away from the dead bodies of the slavers.

The thought that kept bugging me was not the typical one of: did I enjoy killing that most ask themselves over and over. My answer to that question was 'no' a thousand times, underlined and capitalized until people got the point. It was another, maybe cliché, but just as important one: why me? Why a girl from Earth? Why a typical teenager whose biggest problems was her family and not an entire country of thousands of innocent bystanders?

Stopping Melynlas, I mounted my mare and nudged her into a trot. I was tired, but there was no way I was stopping after what had just happened.

As I rode a chilling thought suddenly struck me: this wasn't the first time I had killed.

Far from it.

I felt as if there were memories just beyond my reach and I felt glad that they were for I didn't know if I could live with myself if I remembered some of them. This wasn't the first time I had been caught up in a war. This wasn't the first time I had to choose between killing and being killed. It was a chilling realization. It was terrifying to suddenly realize that I didn't actually know all the things stored in my head or all the things I had done. The realization was more terrifying then even facing Urgals or fighting the men had been. I was suddenly and so completely relieved that there was a wall between what I was now and who I had been. I could only hope that it would stay there until I was ready to deal with it.

The truth of it might just be the hardest thing I would ever face.

I made myself a promise then as I rode towards Dras'Leona. The sun was just peaking over the horizon and sending rays of bright sunshine out over the land. The light was a welcomed sight and the old line of "everything looks better in the sunlight" rang true. My adrenalin, still pumping through me, made everything seem clearer and brighter as if it had all been put through photoshop and had the color increased.

I raised my face to the sky and smiled slightly, soaking up the sun and grateful for the simple pleasure of seeing the light again after what felt like complete darkness.

I would save Brom because I loved him. I would do my best to make sure he lived because he didn't deserve the death that awaited him. Killing the slave traders that had attacked me had shocked me back into reality and out of the negative tailspin I had been unknowingly caught in. It had me realize that I could not live with myself if I failed to save the old, grumpy man that was so many things to so many people - that was so much to me.

As I rounded a bend in the road I caught sight of Leona Lake glittering in the distance and I clucked Melynlas forward into a canter. I was filled with renewed determination - I would become who I was meant to be and discover who I used to be.

It was better to know. Better know who I was then not know at all.


	8. Dras'Leona

I was in a foul mood – no – I am in a bad mood. It had been one of those mornings when everything was irritating from the boat man to the dratted city of Dras'Leona to the haunting fears that refused to leave me behind. If I could I would have relaxed in a comfortable chair after a long bath, drank some tea and vented to a good friend – that would have made it all better. But I couldn't because - guess what! - I was stuck in a world where none of that was currently possible.

I should backtrack – I am leaving you in the dust and I don't mean to. It had started with the boat man. My day had started off pleasant enough, I had arrived in time to catch the ferry, but the boatman had been less than keen to allow a strange girl and her horse onto his precious boat. You would have thought the little bit of rickety wooden floating object was made from precious gold the way he was treating it. Finally I lost my patience and slipped into his mind and influenced his thoughts. I nearly drew my sword and threatened him, but I managed to restrain myself - just managed to. The entire thing gave me a crashing headache that was made worse by the hot sun.

Then this blasted city.

I know! I know! My mother told me 'hate' is a strong word and should not be used lightly, but you have never seen Dras'Leona and, if you have, then I offer you my deepest condolences. To those of you who have stood in its shadow, walked its narrow streets or looked up at its church then you know what I am talking about. You know why I say with complete conviction that I HATE this place. The city just radiates an aura of evil, fear and desperation. After so long with only my mare for company, it was loud, smelly and ugly beyond belief. It made me realize how much I loved the modern cities of my world; New York, Boston, San Fransico or Paris. All of these cities were beautiful, elegant and busy in the right ways. Yes, they had places you didn't go but they were fun to explore and full of things to do. If you weren't an idiot then you would be okay…from this city I had the feeling that it didn't matter if you were an idiot or not – you could still end up dead.

But Dras'Leona?

None of that here – even the name is terrible. I was beginning to wish I had just followed Angela's advice and skipped the place entirely, but no I couldn't. Ugh. I had to be here and it was only because of them, because they were my friends, that I didn't turn my mare away and point her towards the Beor Mountains and the Varden. However, of course, I couldn't and I have to go over those reasons so many times inside my head that you must be sick and tired of it.

I slipped inside the main wall with a group of merchants and, as I made my way towards the center of the city, the more uneasy I became. Hungry eyes watched me from the alleys in-between the narrow houses, hawkers lingered on every corner and anybody on the street seemed to be in a constant rush to get somewhere as if lingering in the streets was ill advised. No one paid me any attention as if the sight of another ragged traveler with a dark hood covering their face was nothing to be bothered about.

My hands never loosened their tight grip around Melynlas's reins and, as I stood waiting at a crossroads for some carriages to pass by, I decided to leave the city. There was no way I was planning on spending even a single night with those cathedral spires looming over top of me. Why should I put up with this place when I could be free of it? I was used to camping out in the wild after so long of it and, while a real bed sounded lovely, I hardly wanted one infested with lice or fleas. Besides is it not better to wake up alive and able to act then dead or captured?

It was with relief that I turned my mare around and made my way (as quickly as possible without attracting undue notice) back to the gates. I was ridiculously lucky to slip past the guards just as the watch changed. A questioning would not have been good for me. I breathed sigh of relief and trotted away. I would just have to wait for Brom and Eragon's dramatic escape from the city. I pushed away any doubts and focused on finding a suitable campsite that allowed me to watch the gates without being seen.

It would not be that bad I told myself optimistically. I just had to be patient and, like the old adage, everything would be better.

Three days.

Three days of constant pacing and worrying – I felt like I was losing my mind. I had worn a track around my campsite and, because I did not know when my friends would be leaving the city, I was forced to keep everything ready for a speedy departure. As the days passed I became tighter and tighter like a spring being compressed until it finally snaps. The landscape was not exactly beautiful either and there was little to distract me from my thoughts. I don't think anything would have distracted me, however, even if I had been surrounded by scenic views.

But, slowly, I began to reach my snapping point. I had been camped here for three days! Three bloody days! Had I managed my time incorrectly? Were they long gone or still on their way? I had no way of knowing, no neat calendar that could help me solve these endless questions. They made me angry, frustrated and afraid – emotions that are not conducive to enjoying the place you are stuck in. Behind me, growing on the horizon, was a black storm cloud that told me, quite clearly, it would be a wet and wild night.

And then….and then I heard the distant sounds of trumpets – they were coming from the city. Trumpets - my heart beat speeded up and I hurried to the very edge of my camp, looking down towards the city. Could it be them? Could it finally and at long last be them? Had, by some wild miracle, we arrived at the same time and now we could meet up? It had to be, for no city would sound alarm trumpets without reason.

There was some sort of commotion by the front gates of the city, but I wasted no time watching and, instead, I destroyed any signs of my camp and saddled my mare with shaking hands. She sensed my fear and nerves, tossing her head and dancing on the spot she made the saddling more difficult then it needed to be. My fumbling fingers slipped on one of the knots, my mind instantly berating myself as I hurried to fix it the right way. I was growing steadily closer to that moment when I would alter fate.

_Lovely – just lovely isn't this entire mess? Look what you have gotten yourself into – right in over your head. So what are you planning on doing? Leaping in there like an avenging angel all prepared to bring the wrath of heaven down upon your enemies? Oh how smart! And when that doesn't work then be sure to tell me, mmkay? _

I did one final glance around and then leapt aboard my dancing mare. The movement, once so foreign, was now practiced and easy as if I had done it all my life. There was no time for thinking, no time for not doing anything – I needed to go. I needed to do this even if it sent shooting waves of terror through me. Adrenalin burned right to the tips of my fingers and the world seemed bright – too bright – and the storm lying before me even darker and powerful in its slowly swirling, slowly growing depths. This would be a night of many things; many changes and it would send us all even deeper into the storm sweeping across this fair land until nothing was left.

And I was going to be at the center.

And I didn't know how I had managed to get myself so deeply entangled in it. Was it because I was desperate to taste adventure? Or because of true friendship? I didn't know, all I knew was that had been swept up into it and nothing I did would cut me free of it. I was part of this story, woven into it and I wouldn't, in the very end, want it any other way.

I pushed my mare into a canter and it was not long after that I saw the two horses galloping out of Dras'Leona. I could not help but smile because, after MONTHS of travel, I would be back with my friends. Not even the rising wind or approaching rain clouds or even the upcoming fight with the Ra'zac could dampen my excitement. Because, for once, I had made it on my own and was coming back not because someone demanded I did through a snarky text message or pointed email. I was coming back because I could – I knew what being completely alone and free felt like after my time in this world. It would be good, no it would be wonderful, to once more be beside my old friends and allies.

And there would be two of them. One of them would not end up dead in a sandstone cave. That one would have a chance to tell his only son the truth

I followed at a discreet distance behind the two horse's, close enough to see them but not far enough to be left behind.

* * *

><p>Their flight continued through the outskirts of Dras'Leona as alarm trumpets sounded on the city wall. Looking back on their wild ride Eragon wished he had being paying more attention to what was behind them. He may not have seen her for she did not want to be seen and it was only because of her secrecy that her plan worked, but, if he had known who was trailing them, he would have felt a great deal better. As it was neither Eragon, Brom or Saphira saw the grey mare or her rider. They were all too focused on getting as far away from Dras'Leona as they could and in one piece after Eragon's disastrous encounter and Brom's slip-up in the palace.<p>

Saphira was waiting for them by the edge of the city, hidden behind some trees. Her eyes burned with fire and her tail whipped back and forth. "Go ride her," said Brom. "And this time stay in the air, no matter what happens to me. I'll head South and hope we aren't ambushed." The last bit was said under his breath and Eragon made no comment on it – knowing he was not supposed to have heard it.

Finding his familiar handholds, Eragon mounted quickly and Saphira kicked off hard into the sky. Below them, Eragon watched Brom gallop along the road on Snowfire and with Cadoc beside him.

_Are you alright?_ asked Saphira.

_Yes,_ said Eragon as he allowed himself to relax slightly against her warm scales and _But only because we were very lucky_.

_All the time we've sent looking for the Ra'zac was useless. They knew exactly where we were. Any chance of remaining undetected is impossible after that escape. There will be soldiers everywhere._

_I know. I only wished the Ra'zac had not been alone. If they had...perhaps then I would have stayed and fought._

_Was there any sign of Zoe?_

_No._

There had been no sign that Zoe had passed through Dras'Leona and Eragon felt both guilty and terribly afraid for Zoe. After what had happened in Dras'Leona any possibility of waiting for her was gone. The only comfort was that Empire still didn't know about her but what good would that do her if she was dead? He was sure she wasn't, but they had nothing to back up that feeling and so he refused to let himself pin his hopes on it when they might so easily be crushed.

_Think about other things little one. Zoe would not want you to become so caught up in her fate that you allowed yourself to be captured._

There were times like right then that Eragon realized just how much he needed Saphira – how deep their bond was. _Thank you, Saphira_. She just hummed in response.

They flew low and fast. The land they flew over became dry and rocky and filled with tough, sharp bushes and tall cactuses. Clouds darkened the sky and lightning began to flash as the wind rose. It began to buffet Saphira and Eragon clung tightly to her scales.

Finally Saphira landed and Brom stopped the horses and asked, "What's wrong?"

"The wind is too strong up there," said Eragon gesturing at the black, roiling sky.

Brom swore loudly and passed Eragon Cadoc's reins. They trotted away with Saphira following on foot, though she had difficulty keeping up on the ground. Soon darkness fell and forced them to stop. The moon was a small sliver and gave off little light, the stars shone distantly. The storm had passed and the world was quieter.

It was too dangerous to light a fire, so they ate their food cold while Saphira sheltered them from the wind. They discussed possible attack scenarios and went over exactly what had happened in Dras'Leona. Their voices were soft and, at even the slightest sound, they would all flinch and ready for an attack.

Eragon was just rising from his seat beside Saphira when he felt the sudden urge to draw his sword. A feeling of urgency and danger - something was there and he had to be ready to defend himself. It was surprising, strange and deeply unsettling. It made him draw Zar'oc and wait; his muscles tense and ready for a fight. Brom rose beside him and drew his own sword looking toward the shadows that Eragon felt uneasy about – the elder man knowing better then to question his young student at such a time.

During those long, silent moments Eragon found himself quickly reviewing his lessons in swordsmanship and magic. Though he was reluctant to use magic lest he antagonize whoever or whatever was watching them into using it to. Brom had made it quite clear how dangerous a magician's duel was especially if you did not know what you were fighting. At least thought Eragon I have Saphira with me. A small flicker of movement caught his eye, a bit of color that stood out against the surrounding blackness. He immediately focused on it as he suddenly felt a cold chill of fear stab through him.

Raising Zar'oc he contacted Brom and Saphira with his mind, _I think the Ra'zac have found us._

Brom took up a fighting position and said, _Keep close to me and Saphira, do not allow them to separate us. Do NOT use magic unless it is our last option._

Suddenly a shadowy figure burst from the shadows with a hair rising shriek. Eragon just managed to get his blade up fast enough before the Ra'zac was on him. Brom was quickly engaged in a fierce duel with the other Ra'zac. Eragon was just holding his own; the creature was stronger and faster than he was. _All that training and I still can't beat it! _Eragon managed to avoid a particular heavy blow the Ra'zac aimed at his undefended left side but he wasn't quite fast enough and the blade nicked him. As the fight progressed Eragon was forced more and more on the defense and he was just managing that let alone deliver a killing strike. Saphira was roaring but she could not fight the Ra'zac without potentially injuring Eragon and Brom. She had to settle for trying to catch them with her claws, but even that was risky.

Things looked bad – very bad. They were a far cry from winning this fight.

But then things were changed. A flaming arrow suddenly flew from somewhere to Eragon's right. The shaft buried itself in the Ra'zac's shoulder with deadly accuracy. The creature screamed and Eragon nearly dropped Zar'oc to cover his ears at the horrible sound. Another arrow flew from the same place and hit the Ra'zac that Brom was dueling. Before Eragon could react and do anything both of the Raz'ac fled into the shadows. Their black robes were on fire and they were screaming in pain. The sound of their screams would haunt Eragon's nightmares for weeks after.

But the fight was not over.

Sudden silence had fallen over the small clearing as Brom, Eragon and Saphira spun to face the direction from which this new threat was. For a few quiet seconds nothing happened and, then, a cloaked figure stepped from the shadows. Eragon raised Zar'oc and Saphira snarled a warning, prepared to fight to the death if she had to.

But, the longer Eragon stared at the figure, the more confused he became. The person was slim and oddly small. The bow looked oddly familiar and the person stood in a way that niggled something in Eragon's memory. He felt as if he knew this person – as if the second that hood fell back he would know them. However he did not know if, when that happened, he would either have to ready to fight or sheath his sword and welcome them with joy. It was more unsettling then the feeling of sudden warning or the unnatural shriek of the fleeing Ra'zac.

The two parties stared at each other. Neither of them were ready or willing to break the uncomfortable silence or make a move to attack. It was as if they were caught in a never-ending cycle which, after a few long minutes, Brom finally stepped forward. His sword was still held at the ready and, a scowl fixed upon his face, the man said "Who are you?"

In response the stranger pushed back his...no _her _hood…to reveal an all too familiar black hair and glittering blue-grey eyes. She flashed them a wide smile and said as if it was so obvious she found it amusing. "Honestly. It's me. Zoe."


	9. Murtagh

What do you say to someone you weren't sure you would ever see again? What do you say to them when they just saved your life and look like they haven't been gone a day?

Eragon wasn't sure. His mind was pulling up a blank as he stared at the young woman before him. Zoe was wearing the black clothing that she had had when she had first arrived in Alagaesia. Her sword was strapped to her waist and her horn still hung from its familiar place beside her quiver. Her hair was pulled back in its familiar braid and she looked quite striking as the little bit of moonlight caught her face and made her eyes sparkle.

But she was different.

This wasn't the same Zoe who had been separated from their small group by Urgals. This was not the girl who he knew from all those long hours spent in a saddle upon a moving horse. There was an air about her that Eragon could not quite place and he found himself searching her face and eyes for any clue as to what this mysterious change was. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could not pin it down.

"So are you two just going to stand there looking like dead fish with your mouths open?" asked Zoe sounding amused. She pushed a lock of dark hair from her face and readjusted her bow so it wasn't pointed at Brom and Eragon. "This really isn't the warm and fuzzy reunion I had imagined. Oh well, I suppose I can always just leave again and then come back and save you from your enemies again." Zoe smirked and raised an eyebrow at them. She appeared totally in control and deeply amused by the situation as if it couldn't have gone better if she tried.

She had waltzed in, saved them and was now laughing at them? It made no sense to the weary Rider. His mind was struggling to wrap itself around it and he doubted it would for a few more hours.

Saphira snorted in amusement and said,_ Your sense of humor is still the same Zoe. However, before we catch up on all of our news, we might want to find a more secure camp site._

Zoe nodded and said "I agree Saphira but there is someone who is on his way here that needs to show up. If you don't mind we will wait for him and then continue on. He shouldn't be that long. I think we have a little time before the Ra'zac return." Both Brom and Eragon exchanged confused glances. Eragon opened his mouth to ask a question but Zoe shook her head and said firmly, "Not now Eragon. I know it is confusing but this isn't the place to explain everything."

When Eragon had first left Carvahall he would have demanded more answers, but after all the things he had experienced he understood where Zoe was coming from. He would just have to be patient and hope that, when Zoe did choose to answer their questions, she would answer them in full. He could still remember her lecture about the proper time and place for questions. Besides, he was weary and his arms ached after the intense duel he had been engaged in with the black creatures.

It was, her grey eyes never leaving his face that Zoe moved forward and came to a halt in front of him. She examined him closely as if trying to see how much he had changed. It made Eragon feel slightly uncomfortable, but then, to his utter surprise, Zoe embraced him tightly. They both were still holding their weapons and Eragon was feeling the effects of the past few hours, but it didn't matter. She squeezed him tightly as a sister would and then, with her hands resting on his shoulders, she drew back. Zoe was smiling and her eyes danced with amusement.

"It's good to see you and Saphira again, Eragon. You've changed and I think it's for the better." Her voice was low and, around them, the trees shifted in the dying wind.

He had changed? Zoe seemed to be the one doing all the changing while he still felt like Eragon. Despite all these past months he was still not good enough to match the skill of the Ra'zac. Would he ever be that good? Would he ever change and find that power?

Brom gave a small chuckle, "What about me Zoe?" The man was smiling a rare smile – one not tinted by sorrow, but wide and relaxed. Zoe laughed and wrapped her arms around the old warrior. In an almost fatherly gesture, Brom rested his free hand gently on the girl's dark hair and, in a voice almost too soft for Eragon to catch, he said, "It is good to have you back Zoe."

The girl released him and her gaze flicked between Brom, Eragon and Saphira. "It is good to be back and I hope we can speak more soon but, right now, the person we are waiting for is almost here. Please, please trust me. He is very important and you will need his help later on."

Saphira touched Zoe gently with the tip of her snout and said _If you trust this person then I am sure you have good reason to._

"You must," said the young woman and her eyes suddenly looked desperate as if this person was so important that, if they refused their company, she would not know what to do.

Zoe turned away, her bow still in her left hand, and whistled. Melynlas trotted out of the trees where she had been waiting for her mistress. The grey mare exchanged friendly nickers with Cadoc and Snowfire who perked their ears at the sight of their old traveling companion. Zoe took her reins and held them with her free hand as she watched the shadows around the small camp fire.

Her eyes never moved and she looked tense. Eragon shifted uneasily and moved closer to Saphira just in case. Too many times recently they had been separated when they should have been together and he would not make the same mistake again.

"Ah here he comes" said Zoe. Eragon looked at Zoe in surprise and turned back to look in the direction she was staring.

Wondering who this person might be, Eragon searched with his mind and found a heavily guarded mind that was aware of his touch approaching. For the second time that night a hooded figure slipped out of the shadows. The man was holding a bow in one hand and his face was lost in shadow. His clothes were travel stained, but he exuded a kind of calm and assured but wary air. Again silence fell as two groups stared at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence.

It was Zoe who broke it.

Her voice sounding calm in the still, tense silence she stepped forward. She held her bow loosely at her side as if trying to reassure the stranger that she meant him no ill will. "Are you Murtagh?"

The figure tensed and raised his bow so that it was held at the ready. Eragon had to fight the urge to raise Zar'roc while Brom looked like he was fighting a similar instinct. Beside him, her body not betraying it, Eragon felt Saphira's muscles subtly clench as she readied to leap forward and to Zoe's defense.

In a cold voice that was strangely emotional the man said, "What is it to you? I am just a traveler who heard the sounds of a fight and came to investigate."

Zoe did not seem at all put out by the obvious hostility instead she just nodded and said in the same diplomatic tone that Eragon had never heard her use before until now. "I am sure you have questions for us but we cannot linger here. I fear that the Ra'zac will be back soon enough and this time they will bring soldiers. Will you come with us to a safer location? I think there is a spot not too far away that will do."

Eragon was more than little stunned by Zoe's trust in this perfect stranger. What could Zoe possibly see in this man who hadn't even shown them his face?

But she continued as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "It would be in your interests if you did decide to come with us."

This 'Murtagh' was obviously of the same opinion as Eragon because he said "You would put your trust so quickly in me? Isn't that foolish, little girl? Yes, I am an enemy of the Ra'zac, but how do you know that we are not enemies?"

Zoe just shrugged and her face suddenly looked older than normal as she swiftly mounted Melynlas. "You did not choose your fate Murtagh. I can sympathize. Do you search for adventure and freedom? Because, if you do, then you can be assured that you will find it with us."

Murtagh gave a short, tense laugh, "You know much about me."

"I recognize someone of similar views and opinions as myself."

"I do not trust you," snapped Murtagh.

Zoe pulled her hood back and up and said simply, "Perhaps you will change your mind on that."

Turning her darkened face to look back at Brom and Eragon she said, "Eragon you must ride Saphira." Of course, the Rider's first instinct was to protest, but Zoe gave him a piercing look and said in a low voice, "Just do it, please."

With a frustrated sigh and one last glance in Murtagh's direction, he sheathed his sword and climbed onto Saphira. Brom mounted Snowfire and took Cadoc's reins while Zoe pushed Melynlas forward with a nudge and said over her shoulder, "Keep an eye out for a safe resting place."

With a nod, Eragon and Saphira took off into the dark night.

The wind had died down a little and the dragoness was able to coast along on the currents of wind without having to constantly fight to prevent herself from being pulled too high or low. While Saphira searched for a safe campsite, Eragon was able to relax against her warm neck as he reflected back over the events of that night. They were such startling events and he could not help but wonder at them with amazement.

Zoe was back. The Ra'zac were still alive. Zoe had just put her trust in an unknown man called 'Murtagh.' As if all of these strange events were not difficult enough to comprehend but, added to it all, was a sense of deep failure and personal disappointment mixed with anger. Once more he had failed to avenge his Uncle's death and, like too many times before, others had had to come to his rescue. When would he be able to protect himself without having to rely on other's who were stronger?

_Oh Saphira why did it have to be us? Why did we have to be caught up in such events? I am just a farm boy from Caravahall. I can't do this! I can barely hold my own against the Ra'zac let alone Galbatorix!_

Saphira was silent for a long time. The only sound was the occasional thump of her winds as she balanced herself and, in the peace and quiet of it all, he felt himself relax a little despite himself. _Sometimes little one, _she said,_ we don't have a choice. Fate must have decided you were the right person and remember that out of all the people I could have chosen to be my Rider I choose you. That counts for something. You aren't alone Eragon you have Zoe and Brom and, maybe, this Murtagh will prove to be worthy friend and ally. Trust yourself. _

_I suppose. _

_Believe it. _

* * *

><p>I am seriously beginning to regret saving Brom's life.<p>

Sorry, it's the truth. The old man was seriously getting on my nerves. Why o'why couldn't he just trust my judgment when it came to Murtagh and stop shooting the poor guy suspicious glares? Perhaps he was right to do it and, had I been in his shoes, I might have felt the same way but I had hoped he would have a little more trust in my judgment. However, at this particular moment, I could not see that.

I was weary and the lack of sleep was, for the most part, because I had been worrying so insensately over his fate.

All of this when combined made me want to strangle the man.

Finally I lost my contacted Brom with my mind. _If you do not stop making Murtagh feel like he is about to be stabbed in the back by a mad old story teller then I will knock you out and I do not make idle threats._

Brom shot me a glare and demanded furiously, _How do you know that this man is trustworthy? How do you know that your books aren't wrong?_

I ground my teeth in annoyance and switched to the ancient language so that Brom would know I believed without question what I was saying. _You know that everything I have said about the future of this world has been true. Let me inform you of this: in the book Murtagh saves Eragon's life and you end up dead by the Ra'zac's hand. It is because of Murtagh that many things occur later and those are important things that cannot be changed just to ease your worries._

_But…._

_Please Brom, _I said before he could continue in the same vein which would only make me more furious. _I am not in the mood to deal your questions. So shut-up and wait until I can explain things better._

With that I severed the connection and moved Melynlas forward so I rode beside Murtagh. He shot me a wary look, but said nothing and we rode in silence. Throughout the rest of the ride I could feel Brom's furious gaze on my back, but I ignored him. Serves the old bugger right for not having more faith in me, my abilities and my knowledge which had yet to be proven wrong. It was because of it that he was not currently dying with a knife through his ribs.

Me. Me and no one else.

Despite the weight of Brom's glare, the ride gave me a chance to reflect on what had happened these past few hours.

I had succeeded!

My plan of using fire to frighten and injure the Ra'zac had worked. For good or for ill Brom was riding just behind me and Murtagh beside me. I could only hope that, by saving Brom, I had not set off a serious of unfortunate events that would lead to utter disaster. I tightened my hold on my bow and – half amused and half frightened by the thought – I found myself wondering at how much I changed. These past few weeks seemed to be showing me that I had another side and it was a dangerous side with little patience for foolishness.

It seemed everyone was changing from Eragon to the ever growing Saphira. Brom, out of the four of us, was the only one who seemed unchanged. There was something comforting in that knowledge. It was strangely nice knowing that some things just didn't change if you were gone for a few weeks and came back after learning a few hard lessons about yourself, the world and what your place in that world is.

Streaks of grey light were beginning to streak the sky to the East when Saphira contacted me with her mind: _There is a good place to stay about two miles from where you are._

_We will see you there then._

I turned to my two companions and informed them that Saphira had discovered a place to stay. Murtagh and Brom said nothing just nodded and we continued on in uncomfortable silence. As we drew nearer to our resting spot I found myself growing increasingly nervous. What in the world would I tell them? How could I convince Brom to trust Morzan's son? How about convincing Murtagh to trust his father's killer? Not only that, but Brom would not have gone into the whole parent's thing with Eragon which would make this all the more difficult.

What it all boils down to was this: Is it better to drop all the bombs at once or only drop one or two?

I suppose if you want to go for the mega effect then you just go right ahead and drop them all, run for cover and then pick up the pieces of rubble later. Despite myself and knowing it was rather unfair considering the circumstances, I couldn't stop myself from my being annoyed with Brom. Why couldn't he tell Eragon? He spent so much time lecturing everyone else about not being stupid and taking responsibility for one's actions, but he seemed unable to face this matter. It would not make these following hours any easier and only, if anything, raise the level of tension between everyone.

I would need luck. I would a lot of luck, a personal heat shield and some patience.


	10. Family Matters

There are times when nothing seems to go quite like you thought it would.

Getting to the top of sandstone dome was one of those moments where my patience was sorely tested both with my equine companions and my human ones. The horses at least had an excuse: it was very difficult to climb up the steep side of the stone with steel shoes and four hooves. Only my mare's trust – deserved or not – kept her from planting her front hooves and refusing to go a step further up the rocky face of, I'll be honest, cliff. However, neither Murtagh nor Brom had that excuse. Not only were they less than impressed to find themselves working together but they were, quite clearly, blaming me for it.

_Stuff it! Why can't they both just stuff it?! Why can't they just – for once – have a little faith and…_

But of course they couldn't and I really couldn't get too angry with them for it. It was Murtagh and it was Brom – two of the most cautious and untrusting people you could find in the whole of this world. They had good reason to be like that, but there was a time when such caution only became a hindrance for people who had to work around said caution. However, I had no choice but to work around it and hope, desperately, that I could somehow negotiate a kind of truce between the two. I do not hold much hope, however, after coming face first with the open hostility that they had for each other and that was before either of them knew who the other was.

After an hour of pushing, cursing, coaxing, stroking and the occasional smack we reached the top of the cave. It was a good hundred feet long and more than twenty feet wide, yet it had a small opening that would protect us from any bad weather or, even worse, prying eyes. The far end was shrouded in darkness; the shadows clung to walls like thick curtains. I studied it with a small sense of relief. Eragon and Saphira were already there, the dragon looking quite pleased with her success in discovering the place.

We had made it this far.

And it is a good idea to be grateful for the small things in life.

"Impressive," said Murtagh looking around while he smoothed the sweaty coat of his dark grey destrier, Tornac. While he was clearly less than amused to be spending time with us, Murtagh was being surprisingly polite and I felt a small well of gratitude grow inside of me. "I'll gather wood for a fire."

Brom looked like he was about to protest but I stepped on his foot.

Hard.

"That sounds excellent," I said before Brom could say anything and I just kept smiling as if that was the best plan in the world.

Murtagh nodded and secured his horse before leaving. I turned to look after my mare and, a brief thirty seconds later, Brom began his tirade. It was tirade directed straight towards me, my decisions and whatever plan was going through my brain because, according to Brom, it was clearly insane. Brom did manage to his voice low enough so that Murtagh could not have heard if he was eavesdropping but he did not manage to hold back any of his verbal punches. Eragon and Saphira, looking rather wary, choose to stay out of it and they kept close to the entrance as if wanting a quick escape in case things got nasty. They might have gotten nasty because, not only was Brom in a foul mood, but I was in an even fouler one.

In a voice that quivered with emotion Brom was really getting on a roll. "What do you think you are doing? How can you trust him? I thought you had some sense in that brain of yours but you are acting like a fool. A fool who blindly puts her trust in the nearest stranger who so happens to have a butcher for a father just because they think that person is..."

Before Brom could go any farther I put a hand across his mouth and met his intense glare with one of my own. I was angry with him. I was angry with the lot of them. I was furious that they had forced me to do what I had had to do because, in the end, I was nothing more than a terrified little coward who didn't know anything about who she was or what she had to do. It felt as if I had done so much to make sure that fate did not play out as it should have and now, just as I questioned my actions, they questioned my judgment.

I was already terribly unsure and frightened of what I had just done to the fabric of the future.

Brom was not making that any easier.

My anger – no – my fury with the changes that had been forced on me suddenly boiled over as I glared into the eyes of Brom. They had not been changes I would have chosen and I felt as if my entire life was speeding forward, so out of my control that, even if I had wanted to, I could not stop it from gathering speed until it careened into disaster. Because – do you know something? – I had done more than I had thought I was ever capable of to make it to this place at this time and in this way.

I had killed.

I had struggled. I had cried. I had slept on the ground and eaten whatever I could find or catch. I had given up on seeing my family again or laughing with one of my friends.

Yes. I had given up on a lot of things and the magnitude of my sacrifices suddenly hit me with the weight of a speeding train that seemed loaded with unfairness and homesickness.

So now I was the foolhardy idiot? I am the errant child who needed to be scolded? I am the one who is doing everything wrong and, because of this, needs an adult to step in and take charge because I am clearly not up to the challenge? I am such a child am I? I know nothing about anything and I am going to get everyone killed or captured?

Is that what you are saying Brom? Is that what I am?

My emotions boiled over as I leaned forward so I could hiss my next words in as venomous a voice as I could summon. I felt the anger building behind my words like the rising power of a wave. I needed to let it all out – to let all of this out – and Brom had merely provided the outlet. He had provided the perfect outlet for my anger, my frustration, my homesickness and my doubt. Because I was filled with doubt and all these ugly emotions that I tried my best to ignore, but I could ignore them any longer.

The man moved back a step, unnerved by the obvious anger I showed. It was first time I had lost control of my temper around any of them. "You listen to me old man. I have killed. I have fought just to make sure you live to see another day. I have given up on ever getting home to my family. Do you know something? You should be dying from a mortal wound as we speak but you are not. Do you know why you are not? I will tell you: because I chanced a gamble with Fate and saved your life. Do you have any idea how hard it has been to choose between potentially destroying the future of this world and saving you? No!

"For once in your life you are going to have to trust me when it comes to Murtagh. You can stop making everything so difficult and find some common ground with him or you and I will have another discussion and you will not come out of it in one piece!"

I did not realize that, as I loosed my tirade at him, I had gripped the front of Brom's clothes and our faces were inches apart. He smelled terrible and I probably didn't smell any better. With a final glare, I let go and whipped around. I reined my temper and settled for glaring at Eragon and Saphira before I marched towards my mare and began to unsaddle her. Brom did not move from where he was standing and his eyes were still wide in surprise and shock.

Good.

I wanted him to be shocked.

The minutes passed in uncomfortable silence until Murtagh reappeared in the mouth of the cave with a stack of wood. I smiled at him and helped him start the fire though, of course, he wasn't sure he liked having me so close and had to do everything one handed because he couldn't take his right hand off his sword hilt. I found it terribly amusing and, when it actually came time to light the little fire, I had to do it because one can't start a fire one handed unless one is a magician.

But then it was time and any levity fled me as I prepared myself for what was to come.

When a small breakfast was cooking on the fire I cleared my throat. Everyone looked at me expectantly and I tried to organize my thoughts. I knew what I had to do and better now than never. The sooner everything was out in the open the better. There were too many things that had gone unspoken for too long and, in such a world, one never knew when the chance to tell them would be destroyed. But I also had secrets that would be exposed in this telling and I wasn't sure how I felt about that either. However, I had landed myself in this mess and it was my responsibility to clear it up.

Facing the quiet, intense stare of son of the Morzan, I began there. "Murtagh…I know that you have been traveling and hunting the Raz'ac just as we have. However, we have more in common than just the same quest." I stopped and continued trying to ignore Brom's angry stare that burned into the back of my head. He had not forgiven me for my angry words and both of us were too stubborn to apologize. Especially as we both believed we were in the right.

Tough luck Brom.

Murtagh was watching me silently. He had removed his hood and I had to admit that he was handsome in a rugged, bad boy sort of way but that was the farthest thing from my mind. There isn't much time to think about how cute a boy is when one is about to drop something as big as I was about to drop.

One last steadying breath before I took the plunge into the cold, dangerous waters of the truth and the past.

I met his eyes and said in as even a voice as I could muster: "Both you and Eragon have the same mother - Selena."

I had been prepared for it. How could I not have been prepared for it after thinking about this moment for weeks and weeks of solitary travel? Eragon and Murtagh began to speak at the same time.

"Just a second..."

"What do you mean..."

"How could..."

I had to grab both their shirts to get them to listen to what I was I trying to say. My headache increased from a dull ache to a throbbing pain behind my eyes. But it was too late to back out now and this had to be finished. "Shut-up you two! Listen!"

They did 'shut-up' but they did so with clear reluctance. Saphria was just listening, a dragon's patience is a wonderful and remarkable thing sometimes. Brom looked like he was planning the flowers he wanted on his coffin.

Another deep breath, a small prayer and then I began to tell the story that I had once read so long ago and in such a different place. I hadn't really cared for it – it had been just another love story and not very original at that. However, when one faces those who were actually involved in the story of Selena and her life…well things change. Things become terribly and tragically real because, suddenly, those ink words you once read on paper become flesh and blood people. And now I was telling a story that should not have been told by me. It should have been told by Selena or by Brom and not by a teenaged girl who could barely cope with the stories she already knew.

I started with Selena's departure with Morzan and then went from there. Breakfast sat untouched as everyone listened to my words in complete silence. Of course, one thing led to another and I had to explain of my own arrival, my journey to Dras'Leona and what should have happened last night. It wasn't easy and there were some things I glossed over because I didn't see the point in retelling them. I tied to answer all of the potential questions I was sure Eragon would have for me before he asked, but many of them could only have been meant for Brom. The old man was the only one who could answer Eragon in full or explain just a few of the motives behind the choices that had led us all to this point. Murtagh, meanwhile, just watched me with an inscrutable expression on his dark face.

Finally I stopped.

Because, finally, the story had been told and now all that remained was the future and that I could not and would not tell.

The sun was high in the sky and I was exhausted as well as starving. My breakfast was unappetizing bit of gruel that looked more like something from my boarding school cafeteria then I was comfortable with. There was a reason I always asked my parents to send me food parcels.

Murtagh was the first to break the long silence. His gaze had moved from me to Eragon whose eyes kept flicking between Brom, me and Murtagh as he digested this new knowledge.

At last, in a voice that was low I had almost didn't catch the words, Murtagh spoke. "This is a lot to take in, but it makes sense."

"Good," I said relieved that at least one person was taking this well or as well as it could be taken. "If you three want to talk I'll be over in that corner catching up on some sleep."

I rose and walked over to the corner farthest from the entrance to the cave. I felt the need to distance myself from them and allow them a chance to discuss matters without my awkward presence. The shadows were thick on this side of the cave and I could feel sleep calling for me. It was hard to find the energy with which to spread my blanket and, once it was open, I practically collapsed on the hard ground as the last of my adrenaline left me. But I could not just sink off to sleep like I would have dearly liked to. Stretching out my mind I murmured, _Saphira?_

The dragon opened up her mind to me. _What is it Zoe?_

_Will you make sure that those three don't get carried away? I worry that Brom's feelings about Murtagh may cloud his thinking._

The dragon nodded her great head and said_, I will watch them. Sleep well Zoe and thank you._

I smiled and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. One part of this journey was over and another, even more important one, just begun. I couldn't help but laugh inwardly as I thought of all that had occurred these past weeks and the things I had been forced to learn. Part of me dearly wanted to shout into the clear morning air: Stuff the consequences, fate and stubborn old men!

But I didn't for that would be tempting fate even more then I already have and, besides, I was already asleep.

* * *

><p>He did not know what to make of that girl.<p>

Murtagh son of Morzan did not know what to make of anything anymore. The last few hours had forced him to reconsider everything he had once taken for certain about his family and the people he had always considered to be enemies. It had forced him to reevaluate what he thought he knew about girls.

Brom and Eragon had both fallen asleep. The dragon was on watch, but neither Murtagh nor Saphira spoke or looked at each other. It was a kind of unspoken agreement between them of 'if you don't doing anything then neither will I'. The girl, Zoe, was curled up using her pack for a pillow on the far side of the cavern. Her face and most of her body was concealed by shadows.

Murtagh stared at the shadows that engulfed her as he considered the events of the past twelve hours. He should have tried to sleep but rest would not come to him after all that had been spoken of. Who could have slept after having their world turned upside down by a girl who claimed to be from another world? Who could have found rest when their father's killer was a few short feet away? Not only did Brom of the Varden seem ready to repeat the act and kill me if I so much as lifted a finger against any of them but….

No the list of why he could not sleep went on and on.

With a heavy sigh, Murtagh leaned against the smooth rock of the cavern as he drew his cloak tighter to ward off the faint chill that the stone emitted. His mind, while it could have lingered on many things, returned to the girl, Zoe. As a general rule he tried not to think too much of his father or mother or the reason for his running away from the King. Some things, he had come to learn, where better not thought of. But Zoe was new territory and he couldn't stop himself from wondering about her.

She could have passed as a noble. Her bearing and manner of speech had, at first, marked her as upper class in his eyes and he had been quite ready to find out she was the runaway cousin of such and such a noble or wealthy merchant who he knew from the King's Court. He had thought her just another girl trying to flee an arranged marriage or seeking adventure after reading too many books. However, that story had been effectively quashed and now he found himself struggling to make a decision that, a few hours ago, would have been quite easy for him to make.

Trust the girl or not?

He was Murtagh son of Morzan and trust was not something that came easy to him. There had been his mother and his mentor, Tornac, but they had been exceptions to his general rule of: do not trust. Was Zoe another exception? Could the grey-eyed, fiery tempered girl who not only knew his past but did not condemn him for it – could she be another exception?

He did not know and he was surprised that he was even willing to consider it.

Then there was Eragon. He looked young and inexperienced to Murtagh's eyes, but he seemed willing enough to give him a chance. Was it only because Zoe had made it clear that she expected it of them both? Murtagh wasn't sure how he felt about the Rider or the simple fact that he was not only his half-brother but the reason Selena had died. If she had not been so desperate to save Eragon from the King then she would not have risked the long journey to Carvahall. While Murtagh had been fighting survival among the backstabbing, sweet smiling courtiers, Eragon had grown up in safety with a loving family in a remote and secure valley far from the King.

Murtagh could have come to accept all of that – with enough time such things can be accepted even if they remain rather painful. However, it was something else that made Murtagh dislike the Rider and wish he had never encountered this strange troop.

He had Zar'roc.

Morzan's sword should have gone to his only son, Murtagh. The one thing that the young man had expected to inherit was now hanging at his younger brother's side. The whole situation seemed so brutally unfair that it hurt him just to think about it. But, like many times before, Murtagh had to be the one who overcame the injustices of life and accept it. For what? Because a girl that he didn't know told him he didn't have a choice? That this meeting between him and Eragon had been preordained in another world?

Perhaps he would surprise himself and, perhaps, he would become friends with the Rider and the dragon. Stranger things have happened and, after all, Murtagh had known them for what? A couple of hours in which they had hadn't been present and Murtagh had been concerned for his life because of an old, sword wielding man and furious young woman? Tornac would have wanted him to give it a chance and, while Murtagh didn't think what most people thought of him, he still wanted to make Tornac proud. The man might be dead and he might be dead because of Murtagh, but he had been too big a figure in Murtagh's life to be so causally forgotten.

The young man tapped a finger against the hilt of his sword. The doubts always crept back in but he was too weary to think of them now or the many possibilities that he would still end up back in Uru'baen as the King's ward. He had always wanted to believe that there was more to him then his parentage and the burdens that placed upon him. Perhaps, in the offer extended by Zoe, he could find the life had always eluded him when he lived at Court.

Turning his face to look out the mouth of the cave, Murtagh studied the landscape that spread out before him. The warm light eased a few of his worries and a small, almost unnoticeable, little flare of hope grew within him. He had delusions about Brom but I sensed that he would be willing to agree to a sort of truce if I proved my worth. As for Eragon and the dragon, Saphira, he would see what happened there.

And then there was Zoe. He didn't know what to make of her or the offer of trust – of friendship – she had decided to extend to him without seeming to mind that it could be rejected or that, even more importantly, it should not be offered to someone like him. It was strangely touching that she had offered, however, and spoken to him as if he was an ally and not an enemy. If only because of that courtesy and quiet acceptance, he would consider the offer and words she had spoken.

Well, he would do his best with the cards he was given and hope that, in the end, he didn't destroy everything. The future was, to his eyes at least, clouded and he did not feel the need to search for things that may or may not be there. But for now, with the morning sunlight warm upon his face, he felt more at peace then he had for a long while.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Another chapter for you guys! Let me know what you think of it and check out my changes to the earlier chapters! I am still working on my revisions but its coming. Again - thank you for reading and please review. It really does inspire me to get writing and posting! :) <em>**

**_This is an edited chapter posted on January 6th, 2014. _**

**_Note posted on January 6th, 2014: Hay booklover19 I know you are reading this story from the beginning and I love your comments (thank you so much!) but I am going to warn you – this story is in the process of being rewritten even as I am writing the future chapters. And, as you continue, you may notice that some chapters seem more mature and developed then others. Maybe a big difference? Lol These are the chapters that I have adjusted because, as you pointed out, I have grown as a writer and I understand my characters better than I did before as well as the direction I want them to go. I am also better with grammar and not so worried about posting things quickly but more focused on length and content. Once more: thank you for your support and interest in this story! It means a lot that someone would want to go through this story so meticulously and I feel quite honored. I hope you manage to wave through the choppy waters of my attempts at writing a good story. It does get smoother as you go. _****_J_****_ I promise it does! _**


	11. Swordplay

The sun was just setting when I finally woke.

I must have been more tired than I had originally thought. Relishing the feeling, I slowly pushed myself up and stretched. I felt refreshed and, without exhaustion clouding my thoughts, I felt even more troubled then I had that morning. We needed to leave and we needed to leave soon. Lingering in this place was not only dangerous because of the Ra'zac but dangerous for the timeline I was struggling to keep us on. I'm not even sure why I keep trying to stick to it, but I do. It makes me feel better to try.

I glanced over and saw Murtagh bent over a small fire along with Eragon, but Brom was still lying down by Saphira. I could hear him snoring gently. The sight of his sleeping form made guilt rise within me. Would he forgive me for my harsh words? Looking back on it I realized just how short I had been with him and it made me feel slightly guilty. I would need to apologize at very least. He had not deserved my anger when his concerns were justified.

I pushed myself upright, ignoring my stiff muscles and made my way to the small fire. Saphira acknowledged my presence with a blink of her eyelids but said nothing. Both Eragon and Murtagh looked up when I sat down beside them. A small pot of something was cooking over the fire and my stomach rumbled in hunger.

I met Murtagh's dark eyes and smiled slightly. As much as I hated to make small talk, it seemed that it was required if I wanted to break the deep silence that had fallen between the four of us. "What's happened while I've been asleep?"

Eragon shrugged and said, "Not much. Brom was awake briefly but then went back to sleep. Murtagh and I have been talking." He looked at Murtagh briefly and I wondered what they had been talking about. Eragon seemed more relaxed with Murtagh and vice-versa so I decided not to question it. This would take time and I was beginning to feel like the odd man out at a family reunion.

Murtagh leaned forward and raised his dark eyes to mine. They reflected the light of the fire and the intensity of them made me feel as if he was looking right into my mind. I automatically tensed slightly and drew my mental shields even closer together. In a soft voice Murtagh said, "You never said yesterday what your life in this 'other world' was like. Eragon said you are a skilled with both swords and a bow, but not how you gained that skill." His voice took on a bitter tone as he said, "You know so much about me and my life. I think it is only fair that I know more about you."

Even Eragon and Saphira drew closer. I had spoken so little of my world to them that they were curious. I crossed my knees and looked out of the small opening and outside towards the darkening sky. My mind whirled as I thought about what I could say to try and explain how I felt and where I came from.

Since arriving in this land my view of my life - my world in general – had changed drastically. I had memories that I should not have, skill that I had not worked to gain and knowledge that could save or destroy an entire world. How would I explain that without totally overwhelming people who didn't even know what Earth looked like? My world was so different from this one and so far away right then. It was hard to believe these days that it was where I was from and – even more frightening – could I ever return there?

So I began where I could because, maybe, if I tried to explain what it was like to be here and why it was so different then I could somehow find a way to talk of other things that seemed so distant. There was also the matter of my visions which I had never spoken of with Eragon and Saphira or even Brom. Would they resent me for not trusting them enough to tell them? I could only hope they would allow me to explain just a few of the things that I had experienced these past weeks – no – these past months now.

Finally I said, "I had a very good life back home but, like so many things, you never appreciate it until you lose it. I came from a family who had the money to ensure that I would have every opportunity to succeed. I never learned weapons nor did I need to. I was never in life threatening situations and never expected to be."

I twirled a strand of hair around one finger, "I...I was so bored and fed up with that life not because I wasn't good at it but because it felt like I was living a half-life. I wasn't really that girl but just playing at it. I longed for an escape, an adventure in which I could make myself someone completely different...or maybe discover who I really was." I paused and looked up quickly to Murtagh and Eragon before turning away, unable to talk to them directly. It felt strange to be trying to put all my feelings and emotions into words. "As I've travelled through Alagaesia I've come to realize that there something far bigger at work. I woke up in this world able to wield a sword and many other skills I never had, did not know were possible to acquire and would never need anyways.

"To answer you Murtagh, I feel like I am discovering a whole different part of myself. There are memories that I cannot quite reach. On my journey here I realized that I am not sure I want to know what those memories are. I feel like there is so much more I have to learn and discover before I can even guess at why I am here or how I came to be here. It's like a puzzle in which I can only see a few pieces and they do not match at all." I smiled bitterly and turned my eyes to look at the three listeners. My finger stopped spinning clockwise and began to spin counterclockwise so that the strand of hair quickly unwound.

Murtagh nodded in understanding though he also did look a little confused. Stirring the stew in the pot he said something that would linger with me through the following weeks of travel: "Tell me more when you know more."

There was something about the way he spoke it. He said it as if it were a challenge or a question worth extra points in an exam. It wasn't easy and it would do whatever it could to trick me up, but it was something worth thinking about. I couldn't forget it and it would haunt my thoughts when I had nothing to distract myself with.

But the moment was broken a second later when Murtagh asked curiously, "What is your world like? Is it like this one at all?" He looked so curious and so like Eragon right then, his dark eyes glittering in excitement and his voice eager as he asked me the question. Was this the same person that he had been just a few minutes ago? The watchful, untrusting and angry with the world Murtagh was gone for a few brief moments. It made me strangely glad to see this other side.

I laughed slightly and said, "If you want to know about my home then hurry up with that dinner!"

The comment broke the ice like nothing else could. Even Murtagh smiled as Saphira and Eragon laughed. I leaned back against Saphira's warm bulk and began to describe my home as best I could. For how does one adequately describe a place with air planes, iPhones and atomic bombs? There was much I just couldn't describe and so I did not mention it. Some I did not want to speak of in this land for, while it was violent, it had no need for things like gun powder.

I spent the rest of the evening telling them of my world. I enjoyed it and it felt so like the dinners I had with some of my friends back home – laughing and telling jokes without a care in the world. I even tried to sing a few of my favorite Top Twenty Hits and told a few old Greek myths. We never raised our voices and Saphira watched the forest below us carefully for any sign of the Raz'ac, but it strengthened the bonds of friendship and created new ones where there had been no connection before.

And little oblivious me did not realize that Brom was watching us.

I only realized it when I made my way back to my 'bed' (it isn't a bed but it makes me feel better to call it that) that I suddenly realized I had not heard a single snore from him all evening. It unsettled me for a brief moment and then I smiled slightly as I looked over at him. What had he thought of all that was said that night? Had he wondered at seeing both Selena's sons enjoying each other's company?

I lay back down on the hard ground and within a few minutes I was fast asleep. My dreams were of home and when I woke the next morning it was with a feeling of peace though I could not remember exactly what I had seen. It was as if I seen things that gave me great comfort and resolved all my endless questions, but the following morning I could not remember what those answers had been.

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><p>He had never thought this day would come.<p>

Brom had never imagined this. Since when would the son of Morzan not only share their camp but travel with them for undetermined and unspoken time? Selena, he supposed, would have been happy. It had always been her wish that her eldest son escape the shackles placed on him by the King, but Brom was struggling to accept this new companion and the weight of what had happened in the past.

Brom watched as Murtagh reached the base of the sandstone hill with his grey warhorse, Tornac. He still did not trust the boy but then who would? As it was he had to trust Zoe and hope that the boy did not betray them. It went against all his instincts but he would give it a try if only because he had seen more than a little desperation in Zoe's eyes. .

When all of them had mounted and Saphira had taken flight they began the slow trek towards Gil'ead. Brom had chosen to travel towards the city after speaking to Zoe privately that morning while both Murtagh and Eragon had been occupied with clearing camp. She had explained that it was important to follow the story she knew as closely as possible. However, to the man's growing annoyance, she refused to tell him anything except for vague, cryptic words that just served to confuse him.

He knew he couldn't blame her for her secrecy. Gods knew he carried enough secrets himself. However, he did wish she would trust him with some more information especially as they were travelling towards one of the most heavily populated cities in the Empire. It was dangerous for them to travel anywhere near the place and even more so after the incident with the Raz'ac.

And he was curious.

Insatiably, terribly curious about what she knew even as he refused to allow himself to ask. What things did the girl carry? It must be a heavy burden to look at someone and know that they would fall or they would live or they would lose all they loved. There had been times when he had regarded her with open wonder. How did she manage to control herself, to bear momentous knowledge in complete silence as if it did not matter? She was a mortal, a young one who was entirely unused to such burdens. He had thought, when they first began to know her, that the strain of knowing might very well break her. At times Zoe had sunk into deep preoccupation and, sometimes, when he caught her eyes in those moments she had the gaze of someone who was nearing the end of their rope.

But now…but now there was little of that look to her. Weariness and the long miles of travel there was, but a wall seemed to have slowly formed over her once too expressive features. She spoke more slowly, her thoughts more distant than they had before. So he wondered: was the knowledge she carried slowly beating her down or was it, instead, only making her stronger? He remembered her words, had seen an ocean of feelings in her eyes when they had argued the previous night. At the time he had not really thought about it, but now he recalled it and he wondered at her.

She had told him he was supposed to die. Zoe had carried that knowledge from the second she landed in this world, had known it as she spoke to him and dueled with him but she had never spoken of it. She had carried it from one corner of the land to another until the very moment when she had chosen to act. She could have decided not to, she could have decided that long ago and known it all along as she spent time in his company.

No, thought the man as he urged his horse forward, he worried for her and for her strength. He worried that she would not be able to continue and that the weight of the unspoken secrets she held would shatter her. Brom had come to care for the young woman and hope that she would find her way through the world – whatever world she found herself in.

There was little talk as the four riders made their way through the sandstone formations and desert plants. Murtagh and Eragon spoke a little but mostly silence reigned for no one was quite sure what to talk about. They knew each other but they had yet to accept what they knew or let go of things they had once took for truth. Saphira flew above them; too high to be seen but close enough to help them if they were attacked. It comforted Brom to have her so close and he was relieved when they saw no other travelers. This country was inhospitable and little travelled but the fewer people they saw the better.

And, as they rode, Brom watched his companions and he wondered.

He watched Murtagh because he did not trust him and because, as hard as he tried not to, he could not help but see Selena in the young man's eyes. He watched Eragon because, in the end, he was a father and the Rider was his son even if it was a relationship the man had never fully accepted. He watched Zoe and hoped, because he could not grasp the magnitude of her situation, that she could keep herself grounded. He hoped because, inside, he somehow knew that they needed her and she needed them. He had once been told that what did not kill you only made you stronger. But he hoped, for he cared for the girl, that she would not become hard because of this burden. That, somehow, she would retain her light laugh, her ability to smile at a brilliant sunset and that she would not become a statute that was unable to feel or think beyond the duty they had been set by the world.

Later, as he sat by their small camp fire, the man found himself watching Selena's two sons duel each other as Zoe cheered them on. As the oldest person there, he found himself laughing inwardly at the sight of the two young men dueling fiercely as a young, beautiful woman watched them. There was an aspect to this duel that was definitely meant to impress and it reminded Brom of his own forays into young romance when he was still a Rider with a blue sword at his side. It reminded him of Selena and his own Saphira, but the memories did not hurt that night.

And above them, spinning in the sky, were the ever watchful stars and around them, flowing by unnoticed, was time.

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><p><em><strong>Revised on 110/2014**_

_**Enjoy! **_


	12. Chapter 13

**_Wow! Almost halfway through this part of the story! As always: thank you to everyone who has reviwed, read and liked this story. Please read and review! _**

**_Note* : I do not own Eragon or any characters from the Inheritance Cycle. _**

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><p>The days rolled by unnoticed as our small group traveled in isolation. Eragon was pleased to discover that both he and Murtagh shared many of the same interests and opinions. The two of them spent many hours debating everything from types of swords and fighting techniques to battle strategies. Brom would often join in, adding his knowledge and experience to the discussions, while I would roll her eyes when the three began to emphasize their points with large gestures. Saphira and I both found it rather amusing and would laugh with each other when the discussions became particularly fierce.<p>

There was one subject, however, that we all avoided discussing by unspoken consent: the past. Eragon and Murtagh were growing closer and while the group could ride in comfortable silence for hours, there were certain wounds that went too deep and I did not think it was right that I be the one to bring it all up again.

The first week went by without any sign of the Ra'zac, which allayed some of the everyone's fears. Of course meeting Urgals on this trip was not something I was worried about but more than once I had to reassure everyone that it was unlikely that we would meet any Urgals on the way to Gil'ead. Finally I decided to explain the logic behind it; we had just set out and all of us were riding abreast through the empty plains. "Galbatorix will have the Urgals close to the Hadarac because it is easier for him to use them in a campaign against the Varden. Durza, who controls the Urgals, will be preparing them for an attack in which Galbatorix hopes to destroy the Varden once and for all."

Brom was shocked. "How does Galbatorix even know where the Varden are?" Before I could answer Murtagh spoke.

"What I want to know" said Murtagh, "is how the King is controlling the Urgals. How does he keep them from fighting each other or convince them to fight for him?"

I steered Melyngar around a clump of shrubs as I considered my answer. "Do you remember the two magicians that work with the Varden Brom? The Twins?" The old storyteller nodded and scowled briefly as he remembered the bald headed magicians. I ignored it and continued, "They have betrayed the Varden and have informed the King not only of the merchants allied with them but of the Varden's location." I raised a hand to stop Brom from speaking and said, "That is how Galbatorix knew about Jeod and the help he has given the Varden. As for your questions Murtagh the answers are quite straight forward. The Urgals are desperate for land in which they can live in safety. They do not want to be hunted to extinction and with more humans encroaching on their territories they are becoming more and more concerned about it. Galbatorix has promised them that and more in exchange for their alliance. To prevent them from fighting each other or turning on him he has had the Shade, Durza, cast a spell that controls them. If Durza was killed the spell would break and the Urgals would be free."

"Durza!" exclaimed Murtagh. His face darkened as if remembering the Shade and all the unpleasant memories he might have about him.

"There is a Shade?" asked Brom sounding horrified. His eyes were wide and he unconsciously gripped his sword as he considered all the possibilities of having a Shade searching for them.

I nodded and said, "Yes, it is because of Durza that you ended up with Saphira's egg Eragon," I glanced at the Rider who looked surprised. "The egg's courier, Arya daughter of Queen Izlanzardi was travelling with her guards when she fell into Durza's trap. The Twins had told Durza when and where to find Arya; Durza planned his ambush well and succeeded in killing Arya's two guards. In desperation she sent the egg to you Brom but it ended up in front Eragon who was hunting in the Spine. Durza took Arya captive and she is now in Gil'ead."

"So that's how I ended up with Saphira. Is that why you want us to travel towards Gil'ead? So that we can rescue Arya? Also, is that the woman I've been dreaming of?" Eragon had told me (I of course already knew) of his dreams and he looked eager. I rolled my eyes, he would be such a love sick puppy when he met Arya. I really would have to change that – making a fool of himself with her really didn't earn him any brownie points.

I gave a long suffering sigh and said, "Yes, she is the one you have dreaming of. However, we are not travelling towards Gil'ead just because of her, though she is a big part of it. If Arya is not rescued soon then she will be sent to Galbatorix who will break her mind and steal the location of the elven cities as well as a great deal if information about the Varden. Also, if Arya is not rescued then her mother, the Queen, will continue to refuse to give aid to the Varden who desperately need it. One of the many problems with rescuing her is that none of us are strong enough to fight a Shade."

"Argeed," said Brom sternly. "None of you are to take on Durza alone or even together. You would be slaughtered." We all nodded though Eragon looked as if he was reluctant to admit that he was not strong enough. With that we began to speak of other things though Eragon did not speak much and his face remained lost in thought.

I felt like a good spar. We had just set up camp and I felt as if I had way too much energy and not enough to do. Riding at a leisurely pace was all fine and good but I needed an outlet for all my energy. Ergaon and Murtagh had sparred against each other the last few nights while Brom and I had watched. It was my turn to have a little fun.

So instead of sitting down and allowing the two boys to have at it, I drew my sword and said with a smile, "Who wants to spar?" Both Eragon and Murtagh exchanged a wary look before Murtagh drew his sword and we both passed the blades to Eragon who blocked the edges before retreating to sit by Brom. I did wonder sometimes if Eragon had fully grasped that both his half-brother and father were there. Sometimes that boy could be extremely thick headed.

Both Murtagh and I squared off. I quickly reviewed what I knew about Murtagh and I came to conclusion that the only way to win was to use my speed. Murtagh was strong but not as fast as I was. With that in mind I lunged forward, forcing Murtagh to go on the defence while I quickly followed up with a quick succession of blows.

We dueled back and forth, matching each other blow for blow. Finally I managed to slip my blade around the hilt of Murtagh's and with a flick I disarmed him. Both of us were panting though Murtagh was far more tired then I was. I had begun to notice that I had more endurance when compared to others. When he had gotten his breath back Murtagh said, "I don't envy the man that challenges you to a duel Zoe."

I shrugged and said with a smile, "Your very good Murtagh." I turned and gestured at Eragon and said, "Now Eragon, it's your turn." Murtagh smirked at Eragon and took a seat by Brom while Eragon prepared his sword. I was looking forward to this duel, if only because I wanted to see how much Eragon had changed. I couldn't help but grin as I saw how nervous Eragon was.

Our duel was as long as my one with Murtagh for Eragon had truly become a master of the blade. However, my speed again gave me the advantage and I disarmed Eragon in much the same way I had disarmed Murtagh. Despite my wins, I felt out of shape and it was no wonder – I had really dueled since the slavers and that had been at least three weeks ago.

With that it became routine for Murtagh, Eragon, me and occasionally Brom to have mock fights. We forced each other to new heights when we dueled and often retired for the night with bruises and small scrapes. Fighting multiple opponents was especially good practice for Eragon, Murtagh and I who all had limited experience fighting that way. The dueling kept the three of us fit like a set of matched blades.

We past many towns and small cities on our journey and I had to remind Eragon that Arya was in Gil'ead. He wanted to search each and every jail just in case. As it was we all had to devise disguises as we saw more and more people. There were even notices featuring both Brom and Eragon – they offered a substantial reward for their capture - though as I pointed out to Eragon as we looked at one of the posters, none of them had a very accurate picture or description of him. Eragon had grown up quite a bit and his face was no longer the teenager one that the Empire had of him.

Our travels north forced us closer to the capital, Uru'baen. It was a heavily populated area, which made it difficult to escape notice. Soldiers patrolled the roads and guarded the bridges. It took us several tense, irritable days to skirt the capital.

Once we were safely past Uru'baen we found ourselves on the edge of a vast plain. It was the same one that we had crossed on our way to Teirm, except we were on the opposite side. Not that it looked any different or felt any different either. We kept to the perimeter and continued north, following the RamrRiver.

I remembered Eragon's birthday and despite his protest I sung him 'happy birthday.' I had even gotten him a birthday present in the last town we had passed through; it was a small throwing dagger that could easily be hidden up a sleeve or in a boot. For, as I pointed out to the Eragon, sixteen was quite an important birthday and it was worth celebrating it despite the fact we were in the middle of nowhere.

At nearly six months of age, Saphira was much larger. Her wings were massive; every inch of them was needed to lift her muscular body and thick bones off the ground. The fangs that jutted from her jaw were nearly as thick around as my fist and their points were deadly sharp.

Along with travelling, sparring and hunting there were Brom's lessons. Eragon practiced more advanced and complex spells as well as improved his knowledge of the Ancient Language. I had fallen behind him during my absence so Brom gave Murtagh and I separate lessons while Eragon flew with Saphira or practiced magic. Brom also continued with his history lessons and Murtagh even began to talk about court life. I even managed to get him to teach me a few of the dances that were common in the Empire.

My memories of home began to fade; despite my best efforts. I still remembered all that was to happen but I was losing what I had had before. Despite that, it was, as I reflected one night, one of the happiest times in my life. However, like all good things, it had to come to an end and the closer we got to Gil'ead the less time I had before the next major event occurred. Arya. How exactly was I going to bust an elf princess out of jail without being killed by Durza?

We stopped on the outskirts of Gil'ead. Our horses stood side by side as we surveyed the city below. It had taken us nearly a month to reach it, during which time spring had finally nudged away the remnants of winter. During that time I had watched both Eragon and Murtagh grow and change. Ergaon was stronger and calmer as well as less impatient. Murtagh was more relaxed and the cloud of anger around him had slowly faded away.

From a distance we could see the city was a rough, barbaric place, filled with log houses and yapping dogs. Lovely. The air was hazy with blue smoke. Wonderful, air pollution. The place seemed more like a temporary trading post than a permanent city. Fire miles behind it was the hazy outline of IsenstarLake.

We choose to camp two miles from the city, for safety. While our dinner simmered, Murtagh said, "I'm not sure either Brom or Eragon should be the one to go into Gil'ead."

"Why? Both Brom and I can disguise ourselves well enough," said Eragon.

"Yes," I said, "but the Empire wants you two a great deal more then they want Murtagh. They don't know about me yet either. If one of us were captured we could escape but you would taken right to the King."

"What are you suggesting then?" said Brom.

I bit my lip and exchanged a look with Murtagh before saying, "I want to visit the city and get an idea for what the layout is and where Arya is being kept. Only then would I feel confident enough to propose a plan to get her out."

"Then," said Brom, "you should either tonight or early tomorrow and return as quickly as possible so that we are not discovered."

Eragon opened his mouth to protest but Saphira spoke. _If anyone is to risk capture it should be one of them, because they would live through it. I do not like it but it makes sense. _

"Then let's go," said Murtagh, rising. I nodded and stood beside him.

"Shouldn't we rest and wait until tomorrow?" asked Eragon cautiously.

"Why? The longer we stay here, the greater the chance that we'll be discovered. There is one thing though," Murtagh turned and gave me an apologetic look, "I ask that you, Zoe, stay here."

I was more than a little insulted. "What? Why? Is it because I'm a girl?" I put my hands on my hips and glared at Murtagh. Saphira chuckled in the background, but I ingorned her and the amused look on Brom's face.

Murtagh had the grace to look nervous, "No! It's just that the Empire does not know about you. It should stay that way Zoe. If they find out about what you know then Galbatorix will fly out and capture you himself. Please, please stay here and let me do this."

I sighed and the more logical part of me agreed with Murtagh but it hurt to admit he was right. I raised my hands in surrender and said, "Fine, go, but stay safe Murtagh. Or I will come after you." He laughed and with a wave of his hand, he jumped onto Tornac and rode away. Eragon sat by the fire with Brom while I paced nervously. Going over everything I remembered about this part of the story in my head.

Hours passed, but Murtagh did not return. Saphira watched Gil'ead attentively. Only her eyes moved and no one dared voice their worries though we did prepare to leave – in case a detachment of soldiers left the city and headed toward their camp.

_Look, _snapped Saphira.

We all whirled to look at the city, alert and watchful. A distant horseman exited the city and rode furiously toward their camp. We waited as he drew closer.

As the rider approached, I recognized Murtagh and Tornac. No one seemed to be pursuing him, but he did not slow his reckless pace. He galloped into the camp and jumped to the ground, drawing his sword. "What's wrong?" asked Eragon.

Murtagh scowled. "Did anyone follow me from Gil'ead?"

"We didn't see anyone," said Brom. His face was concerned and I turned to watch the city, just in case something happened.

"Good. Then let me eat before I explain. I'm starving." He seized a bowl and began eating with gusto. Afyer a few sloppy bites, he said through a full mouth, "I found out that the elf is in the main prison. Durza is here but I did manage to find out that there is a way into the city through the sewers."

I nodded and said, "Thank you Murtagh but what happened to make you leave like that?"

Murtagh shrugged and spooned more food into his bowl before saying. "It's s rather simple thing, but all the more deadly because of it: I was seen in the street by someone who knows me. I did the only thing I could and ran away. It was too late, though; he recognized me."

Oh no. So it was happening exactly like it should but when would the ambush be? I couldn't remember now. I ignored the conversation around me and desperately tried to remember but it the information had fled my mind. Not now!

Saphira took first watch but I could not sleep. About two hours from dawn, Ergaon rose and the rest of us turned to look at him. It was still and quiet but Eragon buckled on Zar'roc as though expecting an attack. No one said anything but we all prepared for a fight. I could sense the minds of men and horses close as well as Urgals. So it was happening.

We stationed ourselves on either side of Saphira, prepared for an attack. As we waited, the morning star rose in the east. A squirrel chattered.

Then an angry snarly from behind made us all whip around. A broad Urgal stood at the edge of the camp, carrying a mattock with a nasty spike. Eragon finished him off with magic but just then I sensed an Urgal behind me and I whipped my sword around, killing it with a slash through its heart. More Urgals began to arrive and we were all quickly engaged in a brutal fight.

Somehow I became separated from the others. I was fighting hard, lost in the fight and the thrill that came from it. I had succeeded in killing at least four of the Urgals when I head Saphira bugle in warning behind me. I turned instantly and saw an Urgal approaching me from behind. I raised my sword but the Urgal managed to avoid the blade and swung his club. I avoided the worst of the blow but the end of the club hit me in my right side. I felt my ribs break. The pain hit me then and with a cry I stumbled, clutching my right side. I managed to get my blade up and with a wild slash I killed the Urgal but the world was beginning to spin and my side was on fire.

I felt myself fall, my sword slipping from my hand and then someone caught me. I was distantly aware of rough voice and the sounds of jingling harness before darkness claimed me.


	13. Chapter 14

Didn't think so.

Just so you know: it really sucks.

Sorry, I'm feeling a bit punchy. Not that I can punch anything in my current state which is highly unfortunate.

I regained consciousness just in time to hear the door to my cell slam shut with a bang. It was followed by the click of tumblers and the soft murmuring of voices. My chest hurt every time I breathed and the idea of moving, even an inch, sounded like an impossible task. Each time I tried to draw air another shooting pain would flare through my chest and I would be left gasping on the little air I had managed to draw in. Someone had cast my limp body down on a thin, lumpy mattress in a cell that would have been an excellent example of what a dark, depressing dungeon should look like.

The walls were stone, coated in slime and splattered in places with what looked like old blood stains or vomit. The only light came from a narrow window with bars on it in the far right corner. A little bit of light streamed inside from it, but it was far from heart-warming and only made the entire situation seem all the more hopeless. Besides my 'bed,' which was made from flat stones with a mattress on top and flat pillow, the only pieces of furniture were a simple wooden chair and a small table upon which someone had left a pitcher and mug. Nothing sharp or even remotely useful if one needed either a way to conveniently exit stage left or plan a daring escape. Drat. Isn't this the moment when all those amazing heroes in books find that magical solution and, presto!, break themselves out? Isn't this the moment when they doing something so brave and amazing that we are all left speechless and, after a moment, break out cheering and fall in love with them all over again for being so brave and clever?

I can tell you I do not feel brave right now. I do not even feel remotely brave or clever or any of that. You have the wrong story if that is what you are looking for.

The door was heavy wood with no key hole but there was a small door at the bottom for food to be pushed through and a little window with bars at the top of the door. The hinges were thick and heavy, as if to warn against trying to pry them off. Not that I could move from my bed to the door and, to top it off, I had nothing I could use to pry said hinges off.

Life sucks right now.

And it started to suck a whole lot more when I began to cough. Each one sent a burst of agony through my body and was so utterly, gut wrenchingly painful that I began to cry which only served to make this worse. When I put my hand to my mouth to try and keep back the coughs, it became splattered with blood.

My blood.

I groaned and closed my eyes as an overwhelming feeling of nausea gripped me. For what seemed ages I could do nothing but cough, cry, bite my tongue until it bled and imagine all the wonderfully terrible things I would do when I got out of this place. But that didn't make me feel any better because, of course, who knows when I will get out of here – if ever. It was easy to think such thoughts when I felt as I did and my surroundings were as depressing as they were.

When the coughs finally passed I lay on the bed and tried to breathe even as I felt anger slowly growing within myself. It was anger at the world, anger at Durza, anger at the Ugrals and, most of all, anger at myself for being so weak when I needed to be strong. I could still feel the damp tear tracks on my cheeks and, while I tried to wipe them away, I knew they only made me appear more weak and pitiful.

I closed my eyes and tried to see a way out of the mess I was in. There was no point lying here feeling helpless and waiting for Durza to march in and start questioning me. I forced myself to slow my breathing and relax my tense muscles. It took minutes, but once I was calmer, I stretched my mind out around me. My last weapon was not my sword or bow but my mind. Someone, obviously deciding I would be unconscious for a good long while, had left me clear of any mind-numbing drugs.

Step 1 to surviving capture: Find the little positives.

With a little bit of searching I found the people I was looking for. Three cells to my right was Eragon, still unconscious but alive. That gave me a little heart. I had been worried that he could have been killed by the blow to the head he had taken from the Urgals. Once I had assured myself that he was merely out cold and would be for a good while, I continued my search. I passed by the minds of many other prisoners. They were all filled with desperation, hopelessness and, above all else, pain. I skipped past them as fast as I could for their thoughts were so dark that they were like whirlpools that threatened to pull me in and down my own thoughts in hopelessness.

Finally, after a few nerve-wracking moments, I found Arya's mind about ten down and on the opposite side of the corridor from my own cell. I touched her mind lightly with my own and - from that connection – I saw that the main emotions in Arya's mind were desperate hope for the dragon egg and resignation to her fate. Touching her mind, sensing her pain and grief made me feel like a whining child complaining about a small headache and bruised toe.

This noble and self-sacrificing princess knew, quite well, that her chance of escaping before she was broken by the Empire was next to impossible. Instead of feeling bitter about it her last wish was to know the fate of the egg so that she could die without feeling like she had failed the whole of Alagaesia. To see someone as broken and injured as she was filled me both with pity and anger. What was all this for? A mad King who had slaughtered thousands and did not mind doing it again?

Step 2 to surviving capture: Anger can be a positive motivational force.

I had to force myself back to the problem at hand. Through the mental line I had thrown towards her I made my presence known to the elf. _Arya Svit-kona?_ The elf reacted swiftly to my mental question and touch – choosing to dismiss me as just a figment of her imagination caused by the pain of her wounds. I sighed mentally and tried again, _Arya Svit-kona? Will you please answer me?_

This time Arya seemed to realize that there really was someone trying to contact her (moi of course) and she swiftly retreated behind her formidable mental barriers. Her response to my question came swiftly; her voice was lyrical, but wary and filled with pain_. Who are you? Why are you contacting me?_

I felt a little nervous, I was talking to Arya. The Arya who was every bit the selfless eleven princess she was in the book. I'll admit it – I felt terribly inadequate when compared to her both in looks and on the inside. That only made my bad mood all the more darker and I had to fight to keep my voice cool and unemotional._ I am a friend of Brom as well as a fellow prisoner. My name is Zoe._

_You know Brom? _Arya's voice was shocked and I sensed her mind beginning to put together different scenarios all of which involved various traps and Durza.

No! No you blasted, perfect princess please don't go jumping to conclusions! If I ever wanted to make my vague plan work I was going to have to prove my worth without doubt. The only way I could think to do that was to put my knowledge of the Ancient Language to work and hope my accent was not too atrocious. In fact I know it is atrocious and I am dead terrified of making some junior grammatical error, but what have you – life sucks.

Step 3 to surviving capture: Be prepared to put all kinds of skills to work including language and digging skills.

When I responded I spoke the language of power. _Yes I do. I travelled with both Brom and the new Rider, Eragon. The egg has hatched and the dragon is called 'Saphira.'_

Arya was silent for a long moment, her emotions were conflicted and, when she finally responded, her voice was faint, almost impossible to hear. _You said you were captured and held prisoner here. What is your plan? Where are Brom and this Rider? How did the egg hatch? Is this 'Eragon' a human?_

I hated saying the truth of the situation to someone who did not need another huge negative, but I told Arya the truth and not just half of it. _Eragon was captured with me. _I felt Arya's despair and could already sense her mind filling with images of a blue dragon and her Rider being turned against the Varden. I continued quickly, trying to stop Arya from being caught in a negative tailspin. _Brom, however, is free along with my other companion. I can explain more fully how Eragon found Saphira and all that happened after that, but it will have to wait until after we escape this prison. I do know that Brom is aware of the situation and so is my other companion, Murtagh._

Arya's voice was full of incredulous surprise. To my outrage she was acting as if the idea that we would ever escape and then be able to have a story time was the most outrageous thing she had ever heard. In many ways it was but I was not in the mood to admit it. In fact I was so angry with her for being so pessimistic that, had I been able to snort dragon fire, I would have in that tiny little cell with its slimy walls.

_Escape? How can we escape with the Shade Durza? Not even Brom is a match for his magic and this Rider will not yet be strong enough. I sense that you are in pain as well and I am too weak to even fight one human._

In a voice made crackly by my anger I snapped back. _You forget that Brom is here and if anyone could find a way of this mess it is he. I may be injured, but I am strong in other ways; so are you despite your injuries and Eragon is far from helpless. At any rate, I am not planning on trying to kill Durza and neither is anybody else involved! We will make it out. _I ground out that final line with all the determination, irritation and bloody frustration that I could summon up.

Somewhere, long ago maybe, I had done this kind of thing before and tried to inspire a person lost in despair and pain to fight again. It was a distant memory but I wondered what I had possibly being doing then to get myself in this sort of situation. Was I magnet for trouble or did I just surround myself with people who were? I would not be a good candidate for life insurance.

When Arya finally responded she sounded slightly less desperate and more hopeful, maybe even a little insulted by my tone. _I will trust you Zoe – for now. I hold to the hope that Brom and your friend manage to find a way to rescue us - if only because of Rider Eragon. If we lose him and Saphira to the Empire then there is no hope for the Varden or anyone else who dares oppose the King._

I rolled my eyes mentally, slightly annoyed with the Elvin princess and her doom and gloom. She had every right to feel that way but still it was not helping matters at _all._

I withdrew from Arya's mind but not before saying, _Remember Du Weldenvarden Arya Svit-kona. You will see it again before the end. Let that thought give you strength._ The elf sent me a small tendril of gratitude before severing the connection completely.

Step 4 to surviving capture: Do not be afraid to play dirty and sneek into people's minds.

With that task accomplished I began to search for Durza and the man in charge of the poisons for the prisoners. I managed to find the latter quite easily in a room besides the armory, he was busy mixing up all his nasty little antidotes and poisons with something can only be called glee. It disgusted me. From him I learned that the antidote for Arya was kept in a box labeled with her cell number. It was mixed anew every night and was then administered to the elf in the morning before her torture session with Durza.

After storing the information carefully in my brain, I began to actively search for the Shade. It was not hard to find him. In fact it was so terrifyingly easy that it sent chills through me and made me remember that my captor was not only as evil as they got but far too close for comfort. The Shade's thoughts were a writhing mass of voices whispering dark and evil things that sent shivers through me.

Durza was located on the upper level of the stone building that served both as a prison and as a control center for the army posted in Gil'ead. It was to this fortress like place that all the missives, orders, meetings and supplies for Galbatorix's most concentrated group of soldiers went through. The Shade was speaking to the Captain who had led the raid in which they had captured the Dragon Rider and a girl - me. I listened more attentively to conversation as the Captain explained that two others had escaped with the aid of a blue dragon and that no sign of them had been found. The little happiness I felt however was quickly snuffed out when Durza commanded to be shown to our cells.

Yippeeeeee.

I waited in desperate silence as Durza first visited Eragon's cell. _Please_, I thought, _please stay unconscious Eragon! _I watched through Durza as the Shade administered a drug that both effectively removed any magical threat the Rider posed and also prevented me from being able contact Eragon through my mind. Great. That really made things so much more complicated. Congratulations Durza you have effectively made this the worst day of my life.

Those thoughts, however, were quickly dismissed as the Shade approached my own cell. What was I going to do? The Shade would not hold back in his interrogation of me - he would want to learn as much about me as he possibly could so he would what kind of threat I could be to him, his precious plans and his King. My only safe guard was my unusually strong mental barriers and the very simple fact of: I am a girl. When you are a girl there are times in your life when you should shamelessly play the 'weaker' sex card.

I decided to try and pretend to be unconscious. It may not work but it might give me a little time before I had to face the Shade head on. I forced myself to relax and, with my eyes closed, I had to rely on my other senses. There was the sound of soft footsteps, the sound of a lock turning and then the door opening. I slowed my breathing even more and listened to the o'so soft footsteps of Durza as he approached my bed, the creak of the chair as the Shade sat down and then his cold fingers at my wrist as he checked for a pulse. I forced myself to stay relaxed as the hand moved from my wrist my broken ribs. Durza paused and lightly pressed his fingers to the bones.

I tried. I really tried to stay perfectly quiet and still, but I couldn't. I am, it has been proven this day, nothing more than a coward who can't keep her mouth shut to save her life. How funny to think that, just a few meters away and through an iron-barred window, is freedom. How hard to think that I could not fly away through the narrow opening and be free of this place. But I could not, I was grounded and facing a creature that was in complete control of me, could do whatever he liked to me, and it was completely and utterly humbling even as it terrified the living daylights out of me. Suddenly I had my back against a wall and I could not fight my way out of it with any weapon I was used to having at my disposal. All I had was my wits, my words and my doe eyes.

The small pressure was enough to make me groan in pain. From the Shade's mind I saw his amusement as he realized that I was awake. My fear continued to grow as I heard just a few of the tortures the spirits were telling Durza to use. In the face of those horrible things, I felt my insides shrivel and weaken with terror. How had Arya done this? How had all those people who had been captured and tortured that one read about in novels done this?

I knew one thing: I would lie. I would lie through my teeth, I would do whatever it took to keep myself in one piece.

"Wake up little girl." He had a beautiful voice. Smooth and soft it was as dangerous as a beautiful snake gliding through tall grass. Almost against my will I opened my eyes and looked up into the hard, cold eyes of the Shade. But I had no choice and I hated it. I hated my weakness, my fear and my inability to act even a quarter as bravely as Arya had.

He smirked at down at me and said in his silky voice, "What a trouble maker you have been pretty one. Killing my Urgals and helping those two criminals escape." He might as well have shook a finger at me like a disproving math teacher.

I said nothing just glared right on back; this seemed to only amuse the Shade more and he continued with a faint smirk. "I didn't believe it at first when I heard about you from my Captain. How, I asked myself, could a young, beautiful little lady traveling with a group of men, undisguised, without a suitable escort or any protection against the dangers of the wild? It was unthinkable as well as cruel and unjust." I said nothing; unwilling to give the Shade anything that he could twist around and use to harm me or Eragon. "So answer me my lady: why are you so far from home?"

From my examination of Durza's thoughts I saw that he was both curious to learn not only where I was from, but also what kind of threat I could pose to him. He believed I was the run-away daughter of some noble Lord and, once I realized the game was up and confessed, he would be able to send me home and collect some sort of reward from both my 'father' and the King. He was certain that it would take very little pressure from him before I would I've him the answers he expected - probably with floods of tears and wails, but, answers none the less.

Unfortunately he was probably right and, here is the sad thing, I was more than to play at being the oh-so-rebellious-daughter card then well I bloody well would before he got started with my fingers, my toes and other parts of my body that NO ONE should do such things to. I did not want my body, my very self, violated in such ways.

"I am here because your men and _Urguls_," I spat the word with all the venom I could muster, "who all serve under you whether by magic or by Galbatorix's orders brought me. I did not _choose_ to be here."

"Why would I control the Urgals? They are monsters and the along would never consider an alliance with creatures that massacre entire villages and towns."

Oh, how smooth you are Durza. Turning the tables on me with such complete ease; too bad for you that I could watch your thoughts. You were shocked and unnerved by my words - you may act like you had have it under control but you are quickly reevaluating your opinion of me. Even your silky voice had become softer and more deadly. But I knew my power lay in my seeming uselessness, my clear terror and my wide, child-like eyes.

A little bit of common sense told me that telling Durza of my power with minds could really back-fire but it would also buy me some time. I was desperate to regain some power. Because, after all, I was lying on a bed and he was leaning over me. I was nothing, a little fly he was all too willing to stamp under a boot. I smirked slightly, enjoying the little bit of power I did have over the Shade. "You control the Urgals because the King is going to use them to destroy the Varden. You are their commander and you use your magical abilities to keep them under control and loyal to your caue. I know this because I am currently inside your mind and I have been since I arrived here."

Silence fell for a long moment as the Shade looked down at me. From his mind I could sense his surprise, suspicion and curiosity. He had decided I might be useful to the King after all and, even if I wasn't, it wouldn't be hard to get rid of me one way or the other. So Durza played my game and said, "Prove it. Tell me what I am currently thinking." The Shade bared his teeth in a gruesome imitation of a smile.

I focused on his thoughts more intently and said, "You are thinking the same things that the spirits inside of your mind are. They are saying things that I would rather not repeat loud." It was true, even a few seconds inside the Shade's mind made me feel hopeless and frightened for more than just my life and my companions but for the whole of this world. Those spirits didn't want their host to settle for anything less than covering this land in war, pain and darkness.

The Shade looked down at me in shocked surprise before laughing. The sound was cold and chill; I shivered and wished I was anywhere but there. "You are a clever little girl aren't you? Able to enter a guarded mind without challenge or notice is quite a skill. I hope you decide to use it to benefit the King. If not then we might to have a little discussion about where your allegiance belongs."

I didn't even want to know what that discussion would entail. In fact I did know and I didn't want to think about it.

I desperately wanted to score a point against the Shade. Prove to him that I was not some simple, little girl that was easy to control. In a cold voice I said, "It's quite amazing really that Galbatorix would choose to put you in command of his armies. How you even form coherent sentences with all those voices in your head is quite astonishing."

The Shade glared down at me and said in an even softer but far more dangerous tone, "Careful little girl it would be a shame to have to break you now just when you start becoming interesting. Now tell me why you were traveling with the Rider? Tell me everything you know of their plans and I will treat you kindly."

It was time to leave the defiance behind. It was time to leave pride at the door and resign myself that, in the end, sometimes the cowards live longer. I needed pitiful and weak. "They never tell me anything. I just know that they were planning on continuing away from the Empire after purchasing supplies." Even my voice was softer and milder as if I really was submitting to the Shade's will.

Durza raised an eyebrow and dropped his hand to my chest where he pushed on my broken bones. Stars flickered in front of my eyes as I gasped in pain, my breath leaving me and stabbing knives making it hard to pull any air back in. "Tell me the truth little girl or I will hurt you far more; there are worse injuries then broken ribs."

Guess he hadn't fallen for it. Drat.

"I'm telling you the truth! I was just tagging along and they never trusted me with any information about the Varden or their plans! Please believe me."

Durza removed the pressure from my ribs and I lay there gasping like a pathetic fish. From Durza's mind I could see that he was pleased by my answer. I would be easy to control until he could hand me over to the King and he did not think I had any information worth his while anyways. After all, who would bother telling a girl? In many ways he was right, I was weak and so stupid to have thought I could outwit someone as cruel and twisted as he was. What a horrible little coward I was when pinned up next to Arya. It made me angry and anger was what made the fear recede a little.

Leaning back in his chair, Durza said coolly, "Mmmm...We will see about that little girl. However, I have other more urgent matters to attend to. Until I can make time for another little chat I want to make sure that you receive sufficient rest." I watched the Shade warily as he removed a vial of some clear liquid from his robes. Durza uncorked the bottle and said, "This should keep you from doing anything stupid little girl."

Before I could do anything or try and move the Shade gripped my chin and forced the vile of liquid into my mouth. The liquid burned my throat on the way down and it worked quickly. I felt myself fall and the last thing I heard was Durza saying with barely contained amusement, "Sweet dreams." Despair filled me and I slipped away into another part of myself; unable to fight the effects of the drug.

Did I mention that being captured sucks?

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><p><em><strong>Thank you for reading :) hope you enjoyed!<strong>_

_**Message to Booklover19: I am not sure if you have a PM account otherwise this would be a private message. If you have one or would like to make one then maybe PM me and I will get back to you as soon as I can. **_


	14. Rescue

_**Thank you to all the amazing people who reviewed after my last update! I hope that this chapter measures up and that if you do have any suggestions for future plot developments that you let me know! :)**_

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><p>I opened my eyes slowly; blinking rapidly as I tried to focus on the dark get stone ceiling. My body felt heavy and unresponsive; it was difficult to even summon enough energy to turn my head so I could at the door to my cell. The slimy, dark stone of the cell made me feel slightly claustrophobic and I absently wondered if they would collapse and bury me alive. No sunlight came through the window so I assumed that it must be night; not that I really cared about that either.<p>

I had been lying there for who knows how long when the distant sounds of heavy boots on stone and men's voices floated through the stone and thick wooden door. I was beginning to come out of the drug haze; at least enough that I was curious about the sounds. It occurred to me that they might be from Eragon's own little escape, but there was no way I could get to the door to confirm that idea so I just lay there and listened.

I was unable to use my mental powers because of the drug but once it wore off I could do something. I needed a strategy...I could not wait any longer for Brom or Murtagh. It was getting too dangerous and soon Durza would take us to Galbatorix. Even thinking about that made my blood run cold. I vaguely remembered my father telling me in a vastly superior voice, 'fortune favors the brave.'

The sounds outside my door were really starting to sound suspiciously like fighting; the clatter of steel on steel and was that the sound of a body hitting the floor? Had Brom and Murtagh actually managed to find a way into this prison to rescue us? My heart leaped and I felt a small balloon of hope grow inside me. _Please let it be them_, I wished desperately. Or maybe they had already gotten Eragon and Arya out but been unable to rescue me. The very idea filled me with panic and it took all my self discipline to rein it back in. They would never leave me behind. Ever. I knew that as well as I knew my own name.

My wish and desperate hopes were granted just a few seconds later when the door to my cell burst open. Silhouetted against the torch light was a dark, tall figure. He was dressed as an Empire solider but his face was obscured by the hood of a thick, black cloak. It was not until I saw the familiar hand-and-a-half sword swinging at his hip that I realized that the man was in fact Murtagh.

I don't know if I can quite put into words how it felt to see him again. I was both relieved to see him, glad that things were sort of going according to the book but also terrified that Durza would show up and capture not only Murtagh but Brom. I felt tears beginning to prick my eyes and my nose began to itch like it always did when I was about to cry. It was all just too much. First my injury, then Durza and then this; I didn't care that I was acting like a little girl and not the hardened fighter I had tried to act like. No longer did the fates of all those who fought against Galbatorix hang on whether or not I was clever enough to get myself, Eragon and Arya out of this prison aide and free. I could share that burden now and if I had my way I would never again return to this place. Ever.

Murtagh hurried forward, his bow was still drawn and I could see the bodies of dead soldiers just outside but none of that mattered right then. When Murtagh reached the side of the bed he knelt down and gently brushed a lock of stray hair from my forehead. The gesture conveyed both his relief to find me alive and relatively unharmed. In a soft voice he asked, "Are you injured Zoe?"

I nodded my head, "I have some broken ribs and Durza gave me a drug that is only now beginning to ware off."

Murtagh set his jaw, I saw a spark of anger in his eyes but when he spoke his voice was still gentle. "Then I'll have to carry you."

I suddenly remembered that I had to tell him about Arya; how could I have forgotten? I silently betrayed myself for almost forgetting something so crucial. "Murtagh," I said urgently, "the antidote for Arya is in the room beside the armory in a glass vial labelled with her cell number. You cannot forget. Please."

Murtagh nodded, understanding instantly. In the same gentle tone he said, "I promise. Now, let's go." He slipped his arms underneath me and lifted me as gently as he could. It still hurt like mad and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out but I managed to keep myself under control.

Murtagh carried me back into the corridor lined with cells. The only lint came from the torches that hung every few feet; they gave off just enough light to see the bodies of six Empire soldiers. I could not help but wonder if they had families who lived in the city. What would the impact of the deaths of these six men be on the people who loved them? I was distracted from my dark, depressed thoughts when Brom appeared from a cell carrying an unconscious Arya. Eragon was beside him talking urgently, a dark bruise was still evident on his forehead and his clothes were stained with Urgal blood. They both looked up and I saw expressions of relief and concern flash across there faces before Murtagh spoke. "We need to go."

"Yes," said Brom. He was also dressed as a guard and it looked like he had used magic to alter his appearance - his hair was darker with no streaks of grey and the lines on his face had been removed or lessened as if to suggest early middle age. It was very strange to see his distinctive face so altered. Then again, better a younger Brom then one captured by the Empire because they recognized him.

Without another word we made our down the hallway and then up a stone-hewn staircase. I knew that Murtagh was being as careful with me as he could but any movement or slight stumble hurt. Broken ribs really were a pain as were the lingering effects of the drug - my thoughts still felt slow and my head ached dully.

As we climbed Eragon asked, "How are we going to get out without being noticed?" I could not help but roll my eyes at the question. Captain Obvious strikes again.

"We're not," grunted Murtagh.

"We have distraction planned," said Brom in a forcibly positive tone; it was similar to the one my running coach had used at practice, falsely peppy and cherry. "It should work...now be as quiet as you can all of you." At the head of the stairs was banquet room filled with broad wooden tables. Shields lined the walls, and the wood ceiling was trussed with curved beams. Brom set Arya down gently on one of the heavy wooden tables. Murtagh set me down on one of benches. I leaned my back against the edge of the table and tried to slow my breathing.

"Now," said Brom looking worried, "can you tell Saphira to wait another five minutes?" Eragon nodded and conveyed the message; he knew better then to question either Brom or Murtagh about their plan; I didn't have the strength. There were shouts in the distance. Soldiers marched past the entrance to the room and I shivered, Durza would be here soon.

Brom turned and looked at Murtagh, they seemed to have a hidden conversation because Brom said simply, "Go." Murtagh nodded and took off running. What was going on? Was Murtagh going to find our weapons and the antidote or was this just another part of the 'plan'? Maybe a distraction on another floor to send everybody running there instead of to the prison cells?

Murtagh had not been gone long when the sounds of men coming up the stairs reached us. All of us turned to look at the entrance to the banquet hall in panic. I tried to slip from my seat on the bench and onto the floor, but before I could Brom lifted me and put me gently down on the cold stone underneath the table. Eragon placed Arya beside me and both he and Brom crouched beside us. My heartbeat seemed unnaturally loud to my ears as did my breathing - then again, even the smallest noise when you are trying to hide sounds loud. I was certain that someone would notice our not exactly fantastic hiding place.

A group of ten guards entered the room. They passed through it hurriedly, looking under just a few of the tables, and continued on their way. We waited underneath the table, except for Eragon who made a mad dash for some food that was left on the table.

Finally I couldn't stand just lying there on the dirty, stone floor so I pushed myself up, inch by inch. It hurt but unless you've had the pleasure of experiencing broken ribs then you really can't appreciate just how awful I felt or how difficult even using your arm to support yourself is. Brom watched me with concern, but said nothing and I managed to get myself upright. It was then that an out-of-breath, paled faced Murtagh returned. He was carrying Zar,roc, my own sheathed sword along with my quiver, bow and horn. He also had a strange sword and bow that must belong to Arya for they were graceful, thin and deadly all at once. Both Eragon and Brom left our hiding place under the table and Murtagh passed Eragon his sword. As he did he said to me, "I'll keep your weapons Zoe for now. I found the other sword and bow in the guardroom. I've never seen weapons like them before, so I assumed that they were the elf's."

"They are," I said, "did you get the antidote?"

Murtagh nodded and patted his chest, "I've got it but I think we should wait until after we escape to give it to her."

I nodded and Eragon said tensely, "Durza will be here soon. We need to go now."

Brom looked around the room before saying, "Our escape has been arranged. Be patient."

It was then that I felt a cold shiver run up and down my spine; I felt like I was about to be attacked. I turned my head and looked towards the far end of the banquet hall. The torches at that end had not been lit and the shadows were thick - thick enough to hide someone from view. I softly touched Murtagh's hand and whispered so softly that both he, Eragon and Brom had to bend closer to hear, "Durza is watching us from the other end of the hall. Be ready." The faces of my companions automatically tightened and their hands tensed around their weapons. Carefully they formed a kind of protective circle around the unconscious elf and I. I wished I could have been standing beside them with my sword drawn but I was worse then useless with my ribs the way they were. If Durza was watching us, which I knew without doubt he was, then he would know that we knew of his presence. Any chance of ambushing us was gone but that did not mean that we had any kind of upper hand. Far from it; all Durza had to do was call for guards and the game would be over.

In a very cold, calm voice Brom spoke towards the shadowy end of the Hall. "Durza. Ready to face me? Or do you still want to lurk in shadows like a coward?" His voice, while low, carried through the Hall; it sounded strong and determined. I could not help but wonder if challenge the Shade head on was the best tactic but too late to change anything.

A cold chuckle filled the banquet room; I shivered as the too familiar drawl of the Shade answered Brom's challenge. "I'm afraid that you aren't done hiding Brom."

Durza walked out into the torch light, The Shade's face was nightmarish; the flickering light of the torches cast a dark light on it making it appear almost like a death mask. I wished more than ever I could stick a knife through his twisted heart and free this world from the terror that Durza speed like a black cloud. In the Shade's hand was a pale sword with a thin scratch on the blade. He unclasped the brooch at his throat that held his cape in place and let it fall to the ground as he prepared himself to fight.

"So, my young Rider, do you wish to test yourself against me?" sneered the Shade. "Or maybe you wish to old man? Or what of you pretty one?" the Shade smirked at me and I glared right on back; unwilling to show the Shade how frightened I was of him. The drug still prevented me from using my mental powers or else I would have tried to attack the Shade head on right then.

"I'll take care of him," said Murtagh quietly, putting down his bow and drawing his sword. I made to say something but Eragon beat me to it. However, he did not say 'no way can either you or I do this' instead he decided to send himself to the chopping block!

"No, he wants me more. He won't kill me but you two had better have a way out of here." Before anyone could say anything to dissuade him Eragon walked forward confidently. He unsheathed Zar'roc as he advanced towards the Shade. Eragon looked grimly purposeful. Ready for whatever the Shade threw at him. He met Durza's unwavering maroon eyes unflinchingly; I had to give him credit for how brave he was acting.

I heard Brom curse quietly and he glanced up at the ceiling as if urging Saphira to hurry up. I added my own silent plea to his.

The Shade's quiet, cold laugher filled the room as the two began to circle each other. Both of them held their blades at the ready and stared at each other without blinking. Don't let him trick you Eragon! I thought desperately. Durza outmatched Eragon in every single department from magic to swordsmanship.

It was then that there was a loud crack from the ceiling followed by a boom and the sounds of screams. Both Durza and Eragon looked upwards but Durza reacted quicker and took advantage of the Rider's distraction to attack. Somehow, I'm still not sure how he did it, Eragon got Zar'roc up in time to block the attack. The Rider and the Shade dueled back and forth as the sounds of screeches and the clashing of metal came from above. What exactly was Saphira doing up there? Pieces of rubble began to fall the ceiling shook. I was grateful for the solid wooden table above my head for it shielded me from the falling pieces of stone.

I turned my attention back to the duel and winced as I saw Eragon narrowly dodge a thrust. With an almost lazy flick of his wrist Durza sent Zar'roc spinning out of Eragon's hands. The force of the Shade's blow sent Eragon to his knees; I closed my eyes unable to watch the unfolding scene.

Durza said in a contemptuous voice "A powerful piece you may be in the game that is being played, but I'm disappointed that this is your best. If the other Riders were this weak, they must have controlled the Empire through sheer numbers." Ouch. That was a blow not only to Eragon but to Brom who had been raised in that lost age; he had seen the Riders in all their glory and strength. To hear that strength and glory insulted would be like ripping a band-aid off a half healed cut.

I opened my eyes and saw Eragon, still kneeling in front of the Shade, shake his head and say in a very cold, mocking voice, "No, you forget something." I gasped as I suddenly remembered; just as Durza did. How could I have forgotten her? She was the most important part of this entire game and nor did she like being forgotten.

A thunderous reverberation echoed through the room as a chunk, yes a _chunk_, of the ceiling was torn away to reveal the night sky. I had never been so happy to see stars after being locked away in a prison cell; they glimmered far away like a distant promise of freedom. I turned to back to see Eragon roll away from Shade as shingles fell from the roof above. Durza snarled in rage, swinging his sword viciously. He missed and just as he prepared to lunge forward an arrow sprouted from his shoulder. One of Murtagh's arrows to be precise.

This only seemed to amuse the Shade who laughed and snapped the arrow off with two fingers. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to stop me." The next arrow, however, did do better then the first one. It caught Durza right between the eyes and the Shade howled in agony. I felt a sense of vindictive pleasure as Durza's skin turned gray and mist formed around him, hiding him from view. There was a shattering cry; then the cloud disappeared. All that was left was a pile of clothes and the blood red cape.

Brom cursed and whirled around on Murtagh, "That was very foolish boy! He will just come back stronger and with a worse temper!"

Before anyone could reply a man from the doorway shouted, "That's it. He failed. Go in and get them!" Soldiers with nets and spears poured into the banquet room. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and I pushed myself up, Brom grabbed Arya and we all backed up against the stone wall. It's funny how adrenalin can mask pain, I knew I would pay for this later but for now I was just happy to be able to move. Murtagh passed me my sword and I quickly strapped it on; loving the familiar feeling of its weight on my hip.

The men formed a menacing half-circle around us, a few of the brave ones even jabbed their spears forward making us press our backs even harder against the wall. It was then that Saphira came to our rescue. The great azure blue dragon stuck her head through the hole in the ceiling and roared a challenge to the soldiers. With another massive crack, Saphira ripped out more of the ceiling. I glanced up nervously. What if Saphira destroyed too much and the structural supports gave out?

It was then that, with a resounding report, the center beam of the ceiling crack and more shingles fell. Confused and panicked the men broke ranks as they tried to avoid being hit by one of the heavy, slate shingles that were raining down. Saphira roared again, and the soldiers fled, some getting crushed on the way.

With a massive heave, Saphira tore off the rest of the ceiling before jumping into the banquet hall with her wings folded. Her weight splintered a table and the floor shook. Eragon hurried to her side and I watched as the two partners of heart and soul greeted each other. I saw the flaming rage of battle in Saphira's eyes vanish and the tension faded from Eragon's face as they talked with each other mind to mind. It was rather beautiful to see the love and trust they had for each other so openly displayed.

The rest of us made our way to Saphira. I was still running on pure adrenalin and I was able to scramble onto Saphira's back with relatively no pain. Oh this would hurt soon. Dismounting would be especially interesting. Somehow all five of us managed to get ourselves onto Saphira's back. How long we would all stay on her, as both Eragon and Murtagh were sort of hanging off the sides, remained to be seen. The still unconscious Arya was held by Brom who sat in front of me.

Before Saphira could take off Brom said to her, "I will give you as much strength as I can Saphira. Use the updrafts to get airborne and try to glide as much as possible." Saphira nodded her great blue head in understanding and then the dragon bunched all her muscles. With a great heave she leapt out of the banquet hall and onto the fortress's roof, where the bodies of the watchmen lay scattered.

"Look!" said Murtagh, pointing. I cursed under my breath as I saw a row of archers filing out of a tower on the other side of the roofless hall. I looked to my right and saw that my bow and quiver were in easy reach. Murtagh had slung them across his shoulder and I quickly grabbed them. With quick, efficient motions I strung the weapon and fitted an arrow to the string.

"Saphira, you have to take off. Now!" warned Eragon.

Just as Saphira unfurled her massive wings, I turned slightly and took aim at one of the archers on the other side of the building. It was difficult to keep my aim steady for at that moment Saphira took a great running leap and propelled us off the edge of the building but I fired my arrow anyways. I was satisfied to see at least one of the archers stumble and fall as the arrow found its target. Saphira struggled underneath me as she tried to gain enough altitude with the extra weight on her back. Brom had one hand on her neck and I noticed that the sapphire ring, Aren, was glowing slightly as he transferred energy to her.

It was then that an arrow whizzed past us. The archers were returning fire. I fitted another arrow to the string and turned so I could fire it back over my shoulder towards the archers on the wall. I had just fired my fifth arrow when Saphira roared in pain. One of the arrows had struck her in the wing and she had to roll to the left to avoid the next volley. More arrows perforated the sky, but we were already too far away for them to do any serious damage.

I slipped my bow back into its quiver and buckled it across my back. I felt so much better with my weapons again. No longer did I feel like a scared rabbit about to be picked up by a hawk. If I learned nothing else from my time in Gil'ead it was that I loved my freedom and I would do anything to protect it. Never again did I want to feel locked in a cage with no hope and no promise of rescue.

I felt the adrenalin beginning to fade as we flew over the city and towards the east. I leaned my head against Brom as the pain and weariness hit me again. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the irregular wing beats of Saphira or the pain or the soldiers that would be searching for us or the darkness of my prison cell or Durza's cold laughter. Instead I tried to think of how good the wind felt in my hair, how bright the stars were, how it felt to see Murtagh again and how much I loved the feeling of being surrounded by people who I loved and trusted.


	15. Chapter 15

_**I am so sorry about how long this took but I was at a horse show for the last two weeks and didn't have a computer just my phone...I really want to hear from you about this chapter because I did a bit of a plot change and I'm not sure how it's going to work out. So let me know and I hope you enjoy the latest chapter in this story! :) **_

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><p>Saphira drifted down to an open, grassy clearing about fifteen miles from the outskirts of Gil'ead. The blue dragon landed on the crest of a hill, and rested her outstretched wings on the ground; she was shaking with the effort of carrying all of us and the pain from her arrow wound.<p>

Snowfire, Tornac, Melynlas and Cadoc were all picketed on the edge of clearing. Despite being used to Saphira and her landings, the horses snorted nervously and danced at the end of their tethers. Eragon slipped off Saphira and Brom passed him Arya before climbing down himself. I took a deep breath and sort of slid/fell off Saphira's side; I stumbled when I touched the ground and would have fallen had Murtagh not steadied me with a firm grip only elbow. I nodded in thanks and Murtagh asked gently, "Would you like to sit down?"

"No, I'm fine," I lied. My head was spinning and my ribs hurt, but I was tired of being weak and injured. Murtagh frowned but before he could say anything I pulled my arm from his grip and walked towards the horses.

I was anxious to see my mare again and make sure she had not been injured during the clash with the Urgals and soldiers. When I reached her I rested my head against her warm neck, enjoying the familiar warmth and smell. Melynlas gave a quiet nicker and gently nuzzled my shoulder. I smiled and said softly, "I missed you." My mare snorted and I twisted my hands tightly in her black mane; simply glad to be back with my mare who had been a faithful companion for many miles. Murtagh was standing beside Tornac, quickly readying him and the other the horses for travel while Eragon quickly checked Saphira over for injuries. Brom knelt beside Arya and I saw the glint of a glass vile in his hand. He must just have given her antidote to the poison.

It was then that Eragon called Murtagh over and I watched as both he and Eragon prepared to remove the arrow that was deeply embedded in Saphira's wing. The sudden pain from the removal of the arrow caused Saphira to jerk her wing wildly. The sudden movement clipped Murtagh in the chin; knocking him to the ground.

With a growl, Saphira shook the tree she had been holding in her mouth, spraying everyone within ten feet with dirt before throwing it away. Murtagh rubbed his bruised chin before returning to the horses.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

Murtagh shrugged and said, "Yes, she just caught me by surprise." I nodded and turned to check Melynlas's girth, but before I could prepare to mount, I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder. I turned and came face to face with Brom. His face had returned to normal and he was smiling kindly at me. I groaned inwardly, I knew what was coming.

"You cannot ride with us Zoe. Until I have a chance to examine your injuries, you should ride Saphira." His voice, while gentle, was firm and unyielding. I sighed in annoyance but I knew that Brom was right. I could not ride at the pace we needed to with my ribs and the after effects of the drug. I glanced over at my other two companions and saw identical expressions of relief and worry. A little bit of annoyance rose inside of me; did they think I would be so selfish as to argue with them right now about whether or not I could ride my mare?

I made my way over to Saphira who was waiting for me with Arya, who was still unconscious but already strapped to the saddle. Saphira and Eragon spoke privately for a minute before the azure dragon turned her head to look at me. I smiled and rested my hand on her warm side, sending a greeting to her through my mind.

Saphira responded to my greeting with one of her own. Her deep voice was gentle and it rumbled through my mind like thunder,_ I am glad to have you back Zoe. I missed you._

_I missed you to Saphira. You have no idea how happy I am to back with all of you_. The dragon nodded her head and I scrambled up into the saddle. Arya was in front of me and I quickly strapped my legs into the saddle. Once I was ready Saphira shook her wings and prepared to take off.

Do you know the feeling of a jet taking off? The bumps and then the sudden gain in altitude as the ground drops away and you are surrounded by nothing but air? That is how it feels when a dragon takes off only it isn't as smooth and there is no flight attendant telling you how to get out of the aircraft in an emergency. I bent my head as the wind whistled past me, it made my eyes water and I drew my cloak tighter to try and guard against the chill.

Eragon, Murtagh and Brom were lost in the shadows within a few seconds and when I looked back towards Gil'ead I saw the lights of search parties. The Empire was wasting no time in trying to find us. Soon they would have our trail and it would take everything we had to stay ahead of them but I was too tired to worry about it. I rested my head on Arya's back and closed my eyes; I was asleep within seconds.

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><p>I had to be dreaming. I knew I was, but it felt so real, so undeniably real. I was standing in the middle of a bright, high ceilinged room. My ribs no longer hurt and neither did I feel light headed or dizzy but rather as if I had just had a refreshing night's sleep. I still wore my bloodstained, dirty clothing and my weapons were still with me. I felt terribly out of place in the immaculate white marble room. In the centre of the Hall was a raised dais on which stood two golden thrones and beside them were four smaller thrones; two on each side of the larger ones. The thrones were empty but the sound of echoing footsteps made me turn and look behind me. At the far end of the Hall were two great golden doors carved with scenes of battles and landscapes. They were very beautiful and I instinctively knew that I would not be able to open them, but, that was not what held my attention for long. Walking towards me was a man. No, not a man but a teenager.<p>

He was handsome, about my age, maybe a year or two older and he walked with a kind of purposeful determination that spoke of inner confidence. His hair was a similar color to my own and so were his eyes. He wore black clothes, similar to my own, and his weapons, I noticed with surprise, were of similar design as mine. Whoever he was he looked like a leader, someone who trusted themselves and their judgment without question. The kind of person you could always trust and rely on in a sticky situation.

A name rose unbidden to my lips and I said softly, almost not really knowing why I said it, "Eomund?" Memories danced on the edges of my thoughts, almost within reach but not quite.

A smile broke out across his face. When he smiled the serious, almost sad look left his face and his dark eyes shone with light and joy. I could not help but smile back and in three steps Eomund was in front of me. He was a good three or four inches taller then me and, as I looked up into his face, I had that disconcerting feeling of knowing someone but not really remembering how or where we had met. The feeling one gets when someone who remembers you says 'hello' and you can't, for the life of you, remember who they are or how you met them.

Eomund raised one hand to my face, gently cupping my cheek with his hand as if he wanted to reassure himself that it really was me and I wasn't going to disappear like a mirage. His hand was a roughed and calloused from fighting but it was also warm and comforting. We stood silent looking at each other for a few minutes until Eomund said softly, "I've missed you Zoe." His voice was strained as if he was struggling to keep his composure in front of me.

I did not know what to say. What do you say when faced with that kind of situation? The logical part of me told me that I should ask not only who Eomund was, but where I was. The room felt real enough but, that did not mean it was. Was this a dream? Or was it a memory? Maybe Eomund wasn't a real person, just a figment of my imagination caused by exhaustion or the lingering effects of the drug.

I opened my mouth to speak but Eomund cut me off. His voice was urgent, as if he had very little time and a great deal to tell me. "I know you have many questions and I want to answer them for you but there is no time for that. Not now, at least. We will speak again soon but until then you must return to Alagaesia. Before you can however, you must know something." Here he paused and seemed to steel himself - as if what he was about to tell me was very difficult for him. Eomund continued on, though slower this time, and his eyes never left mine, "When you were in prison Durza didn't just give you a drug. After his visit to you he returned a little while later and gave you a rare and deadly poison. The same poison that he gave to Arya."

I was shocked, horrified more like it. I managed to find my voice, though it came out higher then usual, "You mean that Durza gave me Skilna Bragh?" My mind raced through all the consequences; there was no antidote close at hand and the antidote I had told Murtagh to get had already been used on Arya. I was dead. I would never get home, never see my family and never know the truth about my past. Officially and completely dead.

Eomund nodded and I saw that he was more than worried for me, he was terrified. How well did he know me? He acted like he was my older brother and I was his darling younger sister. However, I had bigger problems then wondering about what Eomund's relationship was with me.

"Yes. Now listen carefully Zoe." I raised my eyebrows, listen carefully? What did he think I was doing? Eomund continued, ignoring me, "The only way to slow the poison is to go into a deep dreamless state. You are lucky because Durza did not give you the full dosage, he gave you enough that if you did escape you would still die but within a couple of days not hours."

My head was spinning with all this information, "Just a second. How can I go into a deep dreamless state that only elves are supposed to be able to go to? And exactly where am I? What is going on?"

Eomund bit his lower lip and said, "There isn't time to explain everything Zoe. However, aren't you beginning to realize that you are more than some human girl? You aren't an elf, but neither are you just an ordinary human. Once you leave here you can either choose to go into a  
>dreamless state or awaken. However, the more time you spend awake the faster the poison will act. You have to slow the effects or else your companions will not be able to help you."<p>

I was about to ask for more details, in fact, I was ready to demand more but before I could, the room began to fade like dreams do when you are about to awaken. Eomund raised his eyes to look at ceiling and then he dropped his hand to my shoulder which he squeezed tightly. "You must go," Eomund said, "I promise we will see each other soon Zoe. Very soon and then I will be able to explain more but for now we must part. Fare thee well and please, don't lose hope."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I did not have the chance to say or do anything because I was suddenly falling into a swirling pool of blackness. Eomund and the throne room were gone and my last conscious thought was, was that real? Deep, comforting darkness surrounded me and I relinquished myself to a dreamless state of mind in which I was nothing; lost in a sea of blackness and memories that swirled around me. Time no longer mattered, for what is time to someone who is cut off from everything?

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><p>They had traveled through the night, not stopping even when their flagging strength began to slow them. Behind them, lines of torch-bearing horsemen searched around Gil'ead for their trail. <em>Not,<em> thought Brom with some satisfaction_, that they will find it._ He had made sure to destroy any signs of their trail with magic and had been doing the same as they rode. With a little luck, they would discourage the soldiers who would assume they had flown away on Saphira. He knew it was dangerous to use Aren's power but if this was not an emergency situation then what was?

After many bleary hours, dawn lightened the sky. By unspoken consent the three riders stopped the horses. "We have to make camp," said Eragon wearily. "I must sleep - whether they catch us or not." The Rider was feeling the effects of his enforced fast, the drug and then the magic he had used during the escape. He had to rest soon or he would fall off his horse.

"Agreed," said Brom and Murtagh at the same time. Brom glanced up at the sky, looking for Saphira but saw nothing but the inky blackness. Turning to Eragon he asked, "Will you ask Saphira to land? We can meet her at a campsite of her choosing." Brom was worried not only for Arya but the pale faced Zoe who had been unable to walk out of her cell. The idea of her under Durza had terrified him just as much as thinking of Eragon in those cells had. He would not be able to rest easy until he made sure that she was alright and safely back on her mare, laughing and joining in Eragon's lessons.

They followed Saphira's directions and found her drinking from a stream at the base of a small cliff; both Zoe and Arya were still on her back. Saphira greeted all of them with a soft bugle and both Eragon and Brom dismounted and went to her while Murtagh picketed the horses and set up camp.

Before either Brom or Eragon could say or do anything Saphira lowered her head and said, _Zoe fell asleep some time during the flight but it is an unnatural sleep. I worry that there is something wrong._

Brom fought the rising panic as he climbed up to the saddle. Sure enough, Zoe was slumped against Arya's back and her face was as pale as white marble. If he had not immediately checked for a pulse he would have thought she was dead, but there was a beat, however faintly.

"Saphira says Zoe is unconscious." Brom looked down and saw Eragon looking up at him, his face worried. Brom nodded, not trusting that his voice would be calm enough to speak. As quickly as he could, Brom undid the straps before lowering Zoe to Eragon who passed her to Murtagh. Brom then passed Arya to Eragon before joining the others at the base of the cliff. Saphira rested her head beside Eragon, and the Rider absently stroked her head.

While the others tried to regain a little of their strength, the old story teller was watching the unmoving figure of Zoe. What had happened to send her to this deep, almost trance like sleep? It was not unlike the sleep that elves sometimes used. Murtagh was the first to break the silence and when he did his voice was worried.

"What is wrong with Zoe? What about Arya? We can't stay here long, but I fear that both of them will need extensive healing." Brom was forced to admit that Murtagh had a point. The longer they remained in once place the closer the soldiers got to them.

In as calm a voice as he could muster, Brom said, "Murtagh, will you make some dinner? We would all think better with full stomachs. Don't worry about the smoke, I will deal with it using magic and the soldiers won't be able to see it." Murtagh looked reluctant but did as Brom asked, continuing on Brom said, "Eragon, I want you to help me see to Arya and Zoe."

Eragon moved over to where Arya and Zoe lay and Brom joined him. With deft movements Brom slipped Zoe's weapons off and placed them beside the unconscious girl. He slipped off her leather over jacket and raised the thin white shirt she wore beneath it. The sight of her badly bruised chest made the old Rider suck in his breath with anger, while Eragon gasped in horror. Zoe's chest was one massive bruise; from what Brom could see at least three of Zoe's ribs were broken and another two cracked. A quick feel of the bones confirmed what he had first seen. The injury, however, did not answer why Zoe was unconscious.

Thinking out loud Brom said, "Broken ribs do not cause someone to fall into this kind of trance. Did Zoe say if she was given anything in prison Murtagh?"

Murtagh raised his head and met Brom's eyes, "Yes. She said Durza gave her a drug. Do you think there is more to it?" Brom did think there was. In fact, he was beginning to think the situation was far graver then ever before. Somewhere a little voice seemed to whisper, _Durza gave her some Skilna Bragh; enough to kill her if in a few days if she did escape._ Deep down, Brom knew that that little voice was right and that they had no antidote to save Zoe. That little voice had saved him before, it had guided him when he was in situations like this one and it had never been wrong. Call it intuition or something else but Brom was eternally grateful for its help and the warnings it had given him.

Looking back at Zoe's immobile, beautiful face he said, "I have only seen elves fall into a sleep like this. I think Zoe did this on purpose to slow the progress of a poison. The same poison that Durza gave to Arya. Though he gave Zoe less - just enough to kill her if she remained conscious within a few days of travel. Zoe must have realized what he did and fell into the trance, though why she told no one of the poison is a mystery to me."

Silence fell, horrified silence as all present digested just what Brom had said. Murtagh found his voice first, and said in a strangled whisper, "You already gave the antidote to Arya. Where can we find some more?" Murtagh's thoughts raced as he came to terms with what Brom had just said. Why had she not told him or Eragon or Saphira or Brom the moment they found her? Or had she known then? Surely Durza would have told her if only to destroy any hope she had of escaping? Murtagh clenched his jaw; when Druza returned he would make sure to destroy the Shade as painfully as possible. He would just have to beat a long list of people to it.

Brom closed his eyes and said, "The only ones with the antidote are the elves and the Varden. I do not know how long Zoe can remain in this trance but she would not have more than a few weeks." Brom opened his eyes and saw a glint of determination enter Saphira, Eragon and Murtagh's eyes.

Saphira said, _Then we must make haste and take her to the Varden._ The dragon was fiercely determined to save the girl that had helped them so often since they had first met her. Saphira would not let the person who had become one of her greatest friends die just because they were not willing to push themselves to the limit of their endurance. If she had to, she, Saphira, last female dragon in Alagaesia, would fly Zoe all the way to the Varden or the elves without stopping.

"Yes," said Eragon determinedly, his voice steely, "Zoe's done so much for us we can't do anything but try our hardest to get her the antidote."

Brom glanced at Murtagh and saw how tight his jaw was and the glint of fierce determination in his dark eyes. It was the same look that Morzan had worn when faced with a challenge, and now to see it on his son's face filled Brom with a mix of emotions. In some ways he welcomed the kind of single minded intensity that had been a trademark of Morzan, but he also worried that it would lead Murtagh down the same bloody path as his father. Not, thought Brom, if I can help it. He had come to see Murtagh in an almost fatherly way and he was determined not fail the boy as he had failed Selena. Murtagh would never become his father, not as long as he, Brom, was around. Pushing those thoughts away he turned his attention again to Zoe and Arya, both of who still needed healing, or at least as much healing as he and Eragon could give them. "Come Eragon," said Brom as he placed his hand on Zoe's broken ribs, "You must help me heal her broken bones and then we will have to help Arya. We must hurry."

After tending to Zoe, they turned their attention to the battered elf. The sight of Arya's numerous bruises, cuts, burns, whip lashes and scars filled all of them with anger and horror, even Brom, who had seen much of this kind of cruelty, still found it to be utterly shocking. While both he and Eragon worked quickly and efficiently, sometimes borrowing Saphira's energy when they became very tired, it still took them many hours before they had completed their work. With the idea of preserving as much energy as they could, both Brom and Eragon had passed over injuries that were non life threatening, instead focusing their efforts on ones that were. Murtagh watched from the small camp fire, occasionally offering Brom and Eragon food when they took a respite, but otherwise his thoughts were trained on the unmoving Zoe, as if by thinking of her constantly, he could somehow slow the poison spreading through her body.

At long last, Brom rose from his position beside Arya and rubbed his aching temples. Eragon rose as well, trembling from the effort of the magic. "Is it done?" asked Murtagh. He was anxious to be gone and he could not deny that he resented Arya a little bit. It was because of her that they had come to Gil'ead and that had lead to Zoe's capture which had then caused this mess. If they had not come to Gil'ead, Zoe would not be dying from a rare poison. It was not fair of him and he knew it, but he wanted to blame something or someone for this mess and Arya just so happened to be the perfect excuse.

Eragon nodded, "Yes."

"Will she live?"

Brom sighed tiredly and said, "She will need to sleep for a few days but elves heal remarkably fast. I wouldn't be surprised if she is conscious by tomorrow morning."

"We'd better start riding," said Eragon glancing up at the bright blue sky. Murtagh nodded and quickly readied the horses while Brom and Eragon lifted Arya and Zoe onto Saphira. With any traces of their camp destroyed, whether by hand or with magic, they departed. Tired eyes fixed firmly on the distant horizon and all their hopes thrown onto the slim chance of making it to the Varden before it was too late.


	16. Chapter 16

**_I am so sorry! but life, horse shows, summer vacation etc. kind of got in the way of regular writing/posting but never fear - I have been writing and will be positing some chapters very soon! :) so enjoy this and of course - tell me what you think! Thank you to everyone! _**

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><p>Where was she? Arya had the vague impression that she was flying, but, that couldn't be possible. How could she be flying? Had she finally lost her mind? Surely this was just an illusion of flying, or, if she really was flying it meant she was on her way to Galbatorix and that thought terrified her so much that she wished she had gone mad. Better mad then that fate but better to face the truth now. She would never run from the truth.<p>

With great effort Arya opened her eyes, blinking at the blinding sunlight that hurt her eyes after her long imprisonment in the darkness of Gil'ead. It took a moment for the elf to adjust to the bright light and, when she finally could see clearly, she cried out in amazement. She must have gone mad for never in her life did she expect to be flying on this dragon. She had flown with Glaedr once and that was only because Glaedr wished to show her the joys of flight. This was not Glaedr or Shruikan but...could it be? That azure blue was terribly familiar, but, only in her wildest dreams did she imagine flying on the back of the dragon whose egg she had carried across Alagaesia. Yet, it had to be. Here, she, Arya, was and she knew, deep down, that she was not dreaming. This was real.

It was then that a vast, and distinctly dragon mind, touched her thoughts. This dragon's mind was smaller then Glaedrs and full of a different kind of music that was beautiful, proud and completely unique. This dragon was young and full of fire that had not been dimmed by the ages or the loss of all that it held dear. In a gentle tone the dragon said, _How are you little one?_

Arya was speechless and overwhelmed, she was unable to fully grasp the situation, let alone speak to the very dragon she had been waiting for years to hatch. She sacrificed her relationship with her mother, her life and _Faolin _for this dragon. Even thinking of her dead companion made her heart constrict with sadness.

When she did finally find her voice she did not recite the carefully worded speech she had planned for this moment in time nor did she make any attempt to conceal her turbulent emotions. Rather she acted as un-princess like as she had ever acted in all of her one hundred years. _I...how did I end up here? What do I call you? Where is..._

The dragon interrupted her, amusement coloring her thoughts and emotions_. I am Saphira. If you can hold in your questions for a little while longer I will allow Brom to answer them. We will be landing soon and it would be better to discuss these matters then._

It took all of Arya's patience to agree to Saphira's request but the idea of refusing the dragon required too much energy and, when it came right down to it, it was terribly rude to disagree with a dragon on such a simple matte.

So, while Saphira began to angle her flight towards the distant ground, Arya turned her attention to her surroundings. The first thing she noticed was that she was not alone on Saphira's back. Strapped into the saddle in front of her was a human girl of about sixteen, maybe seventeen, years. She was quite beautiful and unlike any other human Arya had seen in Alagaesia. Her hair was a rich dark brown, almost black, with lighter highlights of gold and brown that caught the light. Her pale, lovely face was at odds with the weapons she carried; which while of beautiful design showed signs of battle. This girl looked like some sort of highborn lady - not that she could possibly be one. Why would a noble woman be flying with Saphira? Could this be the mysterious Zoe that had contacted her in her cell and offered a tantalizing promise of freedom?

With no way to immediately answer her question Arya had to content herself with observing the land that Saphira flew over. It varied from dense forests to open fields and Arya wondered where in the Empire they were. How long had she been unconscious and why was she not dead from the poison? If she had to guess she would estimate that they were somewhere close to Gil'ead; maybe three or four days travel away from the city.

Pushing away her thoughts Arya allowed herself to simply admire the sunset. The golden light spread across the land and Arya could not help but smile widely. She was free. It was enough to make her giddy with joy.

Saphira landed in a small, sheltered clearing and, when she had settled her wings, Saphira spoke, _They will be here soon_.

Arya nodded in understanding and loosened the straps on the saddle that had held her place. When they were undone she gingerly lowered herself to the ground. Her body, while healed, was still very sore and bruised. It would take time before she felt herself again. The sounds of horses made Arya turn and she watched as four horses and three riders entered the clearing. One horse, a steel grey mare, was being led by one of the riders. All of them had the hoods of their cloaks up but not enough to completely cover their features.

She immediately recognized Brom, what with his grizzled beard and weathered face he was as unchanged as he had been years ago when she had first met him in Du Weldenvarden. Perhaps there were a few more grey hairs and his eyes looked tired but it was still him - unshakable, ruthless, kind, loyal and brilliant; one of the few people who Arya trusted without question. Someone who could play the games of power without making a single mistake and end up farther ahead then you thought possible.

Beside him, on a red bay horse, was a young human. His brown eyes were intense and his hair was light brown. Beside him was a dark eyed, dark haired boy of around the same age. Both of them sat their horses with ease and they wore their weapons with confidence that spoke of proficiency and skill.

Brom drew his white stallion to a halt and with a small smile he said, with perfect pronunciation, "Atra esterni ono thelduin Arya Dröttning."

Arya inclined her head and replied, "Morranr lifa union hjarta onr Brom-vodhr."

Finishing the ancient greeting, Brom said, "Un du evarinya."

Unable to contain the questions that had been bothering her ever since she had awoken, Arya said, "Will you please explain things to me Brom-vodhr?"

A worried expression crossed Brom's face as he replied, "Yes, I will to the best of my abilities but we can linger here only long enough to have a meal and then we must continue on. Much of the story will have to be told while we travel."

Arya nodded in understanding and waited while the three cared for their horses, removed the girl from Saphira's back, started a fire and then finally, when all of them were seated by the small fire and some vegetable stew was cooking, did Brom begin to explain matters to her.

With a gesture towards the dark boy on his left, Brom said, "Let me introduce you to Murtagh," Murtagh inclined his head in greeting, "and Rider Eragon." Arya's eyes opened slightly with shock. This boy was the Rider? For some reason she had imagined that Saphira's Rider was not with Brom and his companions but would be soon. This boy was barely seventeen and he looked far too weak to ever stand up to any powerful magician or swordsman. Then there was his name. Eragon was such a powerful name and could this boy live up to it? Arya had serious doubts. As if guessing her thoughts Eragon did not meet her eyes but rather kept his firmly fixed on the flickering flames.

Remembering the manners drilled into her, Arya automatically greeted the two with the same greeting as she had Brom, and, to her utmost surprise, they responded correctly. Eragon even had a passable accent while Murtagh lacked the same flow that came with practice. It had been a test she had unknowingly set for them and they had both passed it with full marks. Perhaps they were not as ignorant of the world outside the Empire as she had thought.

"Now Arya to fully explain this...situation I must go back to the time when I was searching for Saphira's egg..." Brom settled back and his face became clouded as he thought back over all the complicated twists and choices that had brought them to this moment. Pushing those thoughts away Brom continued with his narrative, leaving out Murtagh's past and the truth of his parentage as well as a full description of Zoe's skills and knowledge - though he hid nothing else from the elf.

On the outside Arya was impassive as she listened to revelation after revelation but on the inside she was reeling. Never had she imagined that Brom was a father nor could she have guessed, even in her wildest dreams that Zoe was actually from a world as vastly different to Alagaesia as an elf was to a dwarf. She felt pity and sympathy for the girl who had helped her in Gil'ead but was now slowly dying.

Brom had just gotten to the part when they had arrived in Dras'Leona when Murtagh interrupted him. "We should continue this conversation from our horses." His tone was brusque and Arya could not help but wonder at his rude interruption of Brom, no elf or member of the Varden would have dared to interrupt Brom in such a way. However, Brom did not seem angry nor did he reprimand Murtagh instead, he nodded his head in agreement.

"Before we do," said Eragon, "how will Arya travel? Saphira is more than willing to continue carrying her and Zoe."

Brom stood and all turned to watch him, waiting for his answer, "Arya can ride Melynlas for now."

_Another thing,_ said Saphira, _that must be dealt with now is how we will get to the Varden. What route should we take?_

Brom removed the map of Alagaesia from his saddle bags before spreading it out on the ground. Everyone clustered around the paper examining it. Pointing at a small dot labeled 'Gil'ead' Brom said, "We are a little south was of Gil'ead. If we continue on our current path we will be able to cross the HadaracDesert's most south eastern corner. We will escape the Empire and be that much closer to the Beors."

Murtagh gaped at Brom in shocked horror,"You are suggesting that we cross one of the largest, most inhospitable pieces of land? The Hadarac is filled with poisonous snakes, inedible plants..."

Before Murtagh could continue in his long list, Brom interrupted him, "What other choice do we have? Our destination is the Varden. Besides, we will not be traveling through the middle of the desert but only through a small piece of it. We cannot get to the elves fast enough, Surda is full of too many Empire spies and besides, we could not get to Surda without being captured by the Empire. Too many town and villages separate us. Added to that is the fact that the Varden have the antidote for Zoe and need our assistance. You know the reasons as well as everyone else Murtagh."

Eragon examined the map closely and traced the proposed path with his finger. "If this map is accurate then the distance from here to the Beors is about the same that we travelled on our way to Gil'ead - that took us a month…No wonder the Empire ends at the desert; anything beyond it is too far away for him to control."

"Is there no shorter route?" demanded Murtagh. "Zoe does not have that much time!"

Arya leaned forward and said, "If we push ourselves, which we already have to do because of the soldiers, then the journey will only take a fraction of that time."

"But Brom," said Eragon frowning in concentration, "how will we get water? I thought that the tribes in the desert hid their water supplies to protect them from being used by travelers? It would be impossible to create rain and equally difficult to make water out of nothing."

Brom was quick to reply, "You forget that there is always groundwater. If we did a deep enough hole, which is easy enough with magic, then we will be able to reach that water. Now come for time is of the essence. With a little luck we will all make it to our destination in time."

"Wait," said Arya. Everyone turned to look at her, "Forgive me for asking, for I would risk death for a close friend as well and I know that I owe her my life, but...why is Zoe so important to all of you? She must be more than a dear companion to inspire such loyalty."

It was Saphira who answered, _It is because if one of us were in the same situation as Zoe is now, she would do all in her power to save us. She has never asked for anything in return for her sacrifices nor can we ignore the fact that it because of her that we are where we are._

Arya inclined her head in understanding.

Murtagh quickly tamped down the fire and destroyed any signs of their camp while Eragon lifted Zoe's unconscious body back onto Saphira. Arya followed Brom to the horses that were picketed on the edge of the clearing. The steel grey mare reminded Arya slightly of an Elvin steed. Her wide spaced brown eyes were bright with intelligence and her small ears constantly flicked back and forth as she listened to her surroundings.

Arya reached out with her mind to sooth the mare and gently the elf princess stroked the dark neck. The mare did not react to her touch, so, in a smooth movement Arya put her foot in the stirrup but, she had no sooner put a slight bit of her weight when the mare flew sideways; away from Arya and Brom who stood a few paces behind Arya. Melynlas watched them warily from the end of her tether; her head was up and her nostrils were opened to show the bright pink lining. Arya had never had such a reaction from a horse to her touch, and, so puzzled and surprised, she turned and asked Brom, "I thought you said she was quiet."

Brom considered the mare for a moment but before he could respond Murtagh said, "She gives Zoe no trouble but no one else has ever tried to ride her." Arya caught traces of amusement in his voice as if he found the situation rather funny. It irritated her; Murtagh grated on her nerves what with the way he had spoken to Brom and now, the way he silently laughed at her.

Arya spared him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the mare who was still watching her as if daring the elf to try and mount her again. Reaching out with her mind again, Arya tried to sooth the mare's thoughts but it was difficult for Melynlas not frightened of her per-say but rather unwilling to allow anyone but Zoe on her back. Trying to convince the stubborn horse was as difficult as trying to convince dwarves that they should give up gemstones. In other words: impossible.

"Why don't you just ask Melynlas?" Everyone turned to look at Eragon who was leaning his back against Saphira's side looking like he was just about to fall asleep right there.

Arya raised an eyebrow, rather impressed by the boy's suggestion, but also doubtful that the mare would respond. Or perhaps that was where she had made her mistake. Slowly, so as not to startle her, Arya moved forward and rested one hand on the mare's neck. Softly Arya said in the Ancient Language, _"Please let me ride you Melynlas until your own rider is able to."_

The muscles in the Melynlas's neck were tense but slowly, as if resigning herself to her fate, the mare relaxed and did not shy away from Arya when she put weight in the stirrup. In a swift movement Arya mounted. When she was secure in the saddle, she reached down and stroked the mare gently with one hand, trying to convey her thanks. Melynlas merely swished her tail and pinned her ears as if to say _this is temporary._

Once all of them were mounted, Saphira leapt into the sky and Arya watched her, joy filling her as she watched the blue dragon vanish in the darkening sky. There was hope for the Varden; for her people. There was hope after so long spent fighting a losing battle.

As they rode Brom continued with his story. If Arya had been amazed and surprised before she was doubly so now. The more Brom told her of Eragon and the more she came to realize that perhaps her first judgment of the boy was incorrect. He was young certainly but not as far behind in his education as she had feared when she first saw him. Added to that was the realization that she had also misjudged Murtgah. From what Brom told her, Murtagh had been not only a steadfast ally but worthy friend to all of them. It irked her that she could be so blinded by first impressions to cast a worthy ally away merely because she disliked the way they acted.

Then there was Zoe. Brom spoke little of her skills; he emphasized the help and assistance she had given them but said nothing more. The elf wanted more than anything to question Brom privately about just what kind of skills Zoe had, but, she had the distinct feeling that Brom would not tell her anything more about Zoe without good reason or the girl's permission. Arya did not want to push the limits of her friendship by asking questions that Brom could not answer in good conscious. She would have to wait.

Dawn came a few hours later but the four riders stopped only long enough for a quick meal and to rest the horses before pushing on, ignoring discomfort and fatigue. They drove the horses as hard as they could without killing them. Sometimes they dismounted and ran on foot to give the horses a rest.

Though the soldiers who had pursued them from Gil'ead were far behind now, they found themselves having to avoid new soldiers every time they passed a town or village. Word of their escape had been sent ahead of them. Twice they were nearly ambushed along the trail, escaping only because Saphira happened to smell the men ahead of them. After the second incident, they avoided the trail entirely.

At long last, the sun slipped below the horizon and darkness fell like a heavy blanket over the world but they did not stop. Relentlessly the companions paced out the miles that lay between them and the Varden far away in the BeorMountains. In the deepest hours of the night, when the only light came from the stars and a distant sliver of moon, the ground rose beneath them to form low cactus-dotted hills.

On a low rise they stopped the horses and gazed out. Brom raised one hand and pointed in the direction they were going, "A few leagues from here is the town Bullridge. We must slip around it now while it is still dark to avoid being detected."

A few more hours of riding brought them close enough to the town that they could make out the straw-yellow lanterns. A web of soldiers patrolled between watch fires scattered around the town. Muffling their swords with rags and dismounting the four riders led the horses in a wide detour. Arya went ahead so as to make sure they did not stumble into an encampment; the elf moved so silently that she could have been mistaken for a shadow darting from tree to tree.

After an hour of tense watchfulness they were able to mount again. Eragon glanced back at the lights of Bullridge as they trotted away. It had suddenly struck him how much he missed his home. He missed not having to ride through the night so as to avoid capture and the death of his best friend. He missed all the things that came with being part of a village like Carvahall. As they continued on, Eragon came to the realization that he missed life he had before Saphira. The simplicity - he missed _wishing_ for adventure. Pulling himself out of his depressed thoughts Eragon focused on the connection he had with Saphira. Surely that connection, that shared sense of the world with his partner of heart and soul, was worth it.

Finally daybreak flooded the sky. The four stopped their tired mounts in a sheltered hollow of juniper trees beside the RamirRiver. They had covered over sixteen leagues in one day and had the saddle sores to prove it. While Eragon and Murtagh set up camp, Arya helped Brom with Zoe. The girl remained unchanged, her breathing was slow and rhythmical as if she was merely asleep and could be woken with a spoken word or gentle touch. Her mind, when Arya touched it, was guarded behind impenetrable walls of iron.

Leaving Zoe on a blanket beside Saphira, who took first watch, all fell into a deep sleep too tired to dream. Even Arya found her waking dreams lacked their usual splendor; her mind too exhausted to conjure up the usual fantasies.

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><p>Far behind them, in the capitol city of the Empire, Galbatorix was pacing his throne room, alone expect for the massive bulk of Shruikan hidden by the thick shadows. How? How had a boy from a little known, isolated village managed to become a Rider and escape all his traps? Galbatorix stopped and turned to look at his black throne on it's raised dais. A smile slowly curled his thin lips, he could not help but feel a little respect for this boy and that meddlesome Brom. It would make catching them and that elf all the more enjoyable. He could wait. In the end he would win, after all, he always did. No one was strong enough to defeat him. They never would be - so why should he concern himself overly much?<p>

Looking down at the letter in his hand Galbatorix focused on the writing at the bottom of the page. Written, as if it were an afterthought, the Captain of Gil'ead said, _Found with the dragon rider was a young woman of sixteen. She too escaped with the Rider and his companions, but, was given __Skilna Bragh poison. No antidote was taken for her. We have no leads on who she was or why she was traveling with the Rider._ That was it and yet. This girl...she raised his curiosity. She must have had some sort of skill or knowledge that made her valuable to the Rider. Or maybe she was some sort of relative and could be used as a bargaining tool? There were endless possibilities for who she was and her purpose. However, she would be dead by now and any use she may have had for him was gone. He dismissed her completely from his thoughts and focused on other problems. Later he would regret his dismissal. Later, much later, he would wish he had not overlooked such an interesting piece of the games but that is later. When a great many things had become clear for a great many people.

For now at least, the travelers resting beside the Ramir river in a small grove of trees with a sapphire blue dragon watching over them, were safe enough


	17. River

**_I know this is short but it is just a filler chapter that I had ready to go. It will start to pick up again soon! :)_**

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><p>The travelers forced themselves to rise as the first stars appeared in the darkening sky. Eragon shivered in the rapidly cooling air as he replaced his bed roll on Cadoc's saddle. Arya was discussing something in a soft voice with Brom while Murtagh was bent over Zoe. Joining his half brother beside Zoe's unconscious body, Eragon asked him, "Do you think there is anything we can do for her?"<p>

Murtagh frowned and said, "No, if there was anything Brom or the elf would have done it already. We should go."

"One thing first," said Eragon. He soaked a rag and then squeezed the cloth so water dripped between Zoe's slightly parted lips. However, just before Eragon could rise from his seat by Zoe, Murtagh spoke.

In a soft voice Murtagh said, "What will I do when we reach the Varden? They won't welcome me because of my parentage and you, Brom and Arya can't protect me from everything. Nor would I ask it of you."

Eragon reached a hand out and placed it on Murtagh's shoulder, "You have Saphira, Arya, Brom, Zoe and I all supporting you. We won't abandon you Murtagh. Besides, think of all the help you've given us. Without you Arya, Zoe and I would still be languishing in the Empire's prision. That counts for something and no one can claim that you are anything like your father."

Murtagh smiled a small, half smile and put a hand on Eragon's shoulder. For a moment neither of them said anything; silently thanking each other and enjoying the companionship that had grown between them. The silence was broken when Murtagh said, "I always did like races."

"And now we are in one for our lives!" Eragon laughed slightly at Murtagh's words; amused by his brother's statement.

"Yes," said Murtagh with a smirk, "that's the best kind." The two brothers smirked at each other - nothing else needed to be said.

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><p>They headed through the hills avoiding the tops for fear of being spotted by sentries. Saphira stayed with them on the ground for the same reason. Despite her bulk, she was stealthy; only her tail could be heard scraping over the ground, like a thick blue snake.<p>

Eventually the sky brightened in the east. The morning star Aiedale appeared as they reached the edge of a steep bank covered with mounds of brush. Water roared below as it tore over boulders and sluices through branches.

"The Ramr!" said Eragon over the noise.

Arya laughed and said with a joyful smile, "Yes! Long has it been since I last stood by a river like this!" The elf felt her spirits rise at the sight of the unrestrained, turbulent water.

"We have to find a place to ford safely," said Brom looking worriedly down at the fast moving water. The water here was too deep and too swift for them to cross safely.

_That that isn't necessary_, said Saphira_. I can carry you across, no matter how wide the river is._

Eragon rested a hand on her side. _What about the horses? We can't leave them behind._

_As long as you're not on them and they don't struggle too much I would be able to carry them. We cannot afford to squander time here deciding whether or not to attempt it._

Saphira clambered down the embankment, passing his reins to Murtagh, Eragon followed her to the edge of the bank. The Ramr ran dark and swift, it was impossible to tell how deep the water was. Saphira placed her front legs in the water but quickly pulled them out when the current nearly swept her off her feet. Shaking her head she drew back and broadcasted her thoughts to include Arya, Brom and Murtagh. _I am going to see how far across the river is and if there is a place close by where you can cross. If not then I will have to fly you over._

With a gust of air she took off. Eragon returned to Cadoc and remounted. After a short time, Saphira contacted them again, _I'm on the other bank. The river is over a half-mile wide. You couldn't have chosen a worse place to cross; the Ramr bends at this point and is at it's widest._

"A half-mile!" exclaimed Murtagh. Eragon explained about Saphira's offer to fly them across the river.

Brom frowned and said, "I would rather try and cross without Saphira's help. Ask her to look for shallows where we can swim over safely. If there aren't any within a mile in either direction, then I suppose she can ferry us."

At Eragon's request, Saphira agreed to search for a ford. While she explored, they hunkered next to the horses and ate dry bread and a few roots that Arya managed to find. It was not long before Saphira returned, her velvet wings whispering in the early dawn sky. _The water is deep and strong, upstream and downstream. You would have to travel more than a few miles to find a safe ford._

Brom sighed and said, "Murtagh, go over with Saphira first so you can watch the horses. We will have to go with Sahira's plan."

Murtagh nodded and scrambled onto Saphira's saddle, behind Zoe who was still strapped to the saddle. "Be careful with my horse!" he called down to them before Saphira took off into the clear air.

When she returned, Zoe had been removed from her back. With Brom's help Eragon led Tornac to Saphira, ignoring the horse's protests. Before Saphira could grip the horse around the belly, Arya said, "Wait Saphira." The elf repositioned Murtagh's saddle so that it protected Tornac's belly from Saphira's sharp claws, then Arya gestured for Saphira to proceed.

Tornac snorted in fear and tried to bolt away when Sahira's forelegs clamped around his sides, but she held him tightly. The horse struggled madly in her grasp and it took both Arya and Eragon's combined mental force to try and sooth the terrified horse. Before Tornac could try and escape again, Saphira jumped into the skyward, straining furiously to make it high enough. Tornac screamed in terror as the ground dropped away from him.

Eragon winced at the sound; if there were any enemies close at hand they would quickly be able to find them. Turning back, he helped Brom prepare Snowfire then Cadoc and finally, Melynlas who was the least panicked of the horses.

When all the horses had been ferried across the river by Saphira, Arya, Brom and Eragon climbed onto her back and flew over the river. When Eragon looked back he saw the distant lights of torch bearing soldiers as they made their way to the river. It seemed that the sooner they got away from the Ramr the better.

As if sensing his thoughts, Arya said, "The Ramr is an effective way of putting distance between us and our enemies. They will have journey for many miles to find a crossing."

"Yes," said Brom. "Now we must worry about making it to the Varden in time." Soon, they were all on firm ground once more and traveling again.

Eragon dozed even when walking. He was barely aware that Murtagh and Brom were equally tired. Only Arya and Saphira seemed to be fully aware of their surroundings - it was their vigilance that kept them on course towards the distant Varden. Eragon did not even notice when the lush vegetation that grew along the Ramr began to change to sparse, desert plants nor did he fully register when the ground became soft and sandy. By the time the sun was high above them, the Ramr was nothing more than a distant line behind them while around them sand dunes filled the horizon like endless rippling waves of sand that changed constantly.

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><p>Arya led Melynlas through the dunes beside Brom. Her thoughts were filled with memories of her mother and the time she had spent with the Varden. Raising her head to look at the sun that was only now beginning to dip towards the horizon, Arya wondered if she would be welcomed back to Du Weldenvarden. From what Brom had told her, the Varden had received no assistance from her mother since her disappearance. Did that mean her mother did actually care for her? Why couldn't she push her grief away and be the selfless leader? She was Queen and without the elves assistance the Varden were completely reliant on the dwarves who were as changeable as the wind.<p>

Turning to look at Eragon who was grey with exhaustion and just managing to walk beside his horse, Arya could not help but feel slightly hopeful. She had known Eragon for only three days and yet she found herself beginning to respect him. He was capable, skilled with his weapons, comfortable with the Ancient Language and ready to advance to more complex spells. Her doubts had not completely been removed but they had been eased. Young he may be but he was no child who required constant hand holding.

Resting a hand on the sweaty neck of Melynlas, Arya absently stroked her. What was waiting for them at the Varden? Brom had told her of the Twins's part in her capture and she could hardly wait to take her revenge on them. That they had done such a thing made the elf's blood boil with anger. Mastering her emotions Arya turned her thoughts to the Varden, she was still the ambassador for her mother but she had been gone so long that she worried that her role may have changed - especially with the arrival of Eragon and Saphira as well as the return of Brom. They would be walking into a rat's nest of conflicting powers, all of which were desperate to control them. She would have to talk with Eragon so he, Saphira and Murtagh were prepared for it. Though she had the feeling that Murtagh was used to such political games and would need little coaching in such matters.

Shaking her head, Arya cleared her head of her thoughts and instead tried to find some semblance of inner peace away from the questions and problems that plagued her thoughts. Looking forward towards the seemingly endless desert, Arya could not help but inwardly smile. If she had wanted a peaceful, easy life far away such questions she could have stayed in Du Weldenvarden.


	18. The Hadarac Desert

_**Here's another chapter! Again, this is short and pretty much sticks with the events that happen in the book but it will get exciting and longer soon so hang on! Thank you to all the people who commented on my last two chapters and I hope that you enjoy this one. :)**_

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><p>Murtagh shaded his eyes from the glare of the bright sun. The desert was a vast expanse of dunes that stretched as far as the eye could see. A light breeze stirred the reddish gold sand into the air and reshaped the dunes around them. The plants that grew in the desert were tough and scraggly; able to survive on little water. The air was hot and dry - the only animal he could see was a distant hawk circling high above. In the distance was a line of purple crags that rose from the desert.<p>

"You're sure we'll find food for the horses out there?" asked Eragon worriedly.

"Yes," said Arya. Raising one hand to point out across the vast expanse of sand towards the crags, she continued, "A kind of sparse, tough grass grows around those. It is tough but will be enough for the horses."

Brom sighed and raised his head to look at the sky, not a cloud could be seen and the sun beat down relentlessly. "Let us rest for a little while and wait until nightfall to continue."

No one had the energy to argue or the desire to and so they untied Zoe from Sahira, ate, and then lay in the shadow of a dune for an afternoon nap. Saphira curled up beside them, spreading her wings to form a kind of tent over top that blocked out the sun and the faint, dry desert breeze that provided no respite from the heat. Within moments they were all fast asleep. Since their escape from Gil'ead four days ago they had covered over thirty-five leagues.

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><p>Saphira woke the travelers after only a few hours of rest. Too short to be sure but enough that their minds were clear and the horses were ready to continue. The sun was hovering above the horizon and already there was a cool chill to the air that was invigorating.<p>

Despite the impressive distance they had covered, Brom reminded them that the Empire would not so easily allow its prey to slip through its net. Arya was quick to add her own cautions to his and so they left their small camp as soon as possible. Zoe remained unchanged, her breathing slow and rhythmical.

The stars had just come out when they reached the crags that they had seen that morning. The crags rose from the sand like the imposing stone walls of some mighty fortress. The ground around the stone was hard and, when Murtagh dismounted from Tornac, he could feel the heat from the baked ground.

Letting the horses eat some of the sparse grass around the rocky face of one of the crags, the companions settled around a small fire. Above them the night sky glimmered and sparkled with the light of thousands apron thousands of stars. A bright half moon sent cool light across the desert.

"Look at them," said Arya gazing up at the heavens.

"That is one of the few nice things I can say about the desert," said Brom with a small chuckle, "the night sky is beautiful."

"Maybe," said Murtagh with a smirk, "if you're an elf."

Arya raised an eyebrow but said nothing, choosing to ignore Murtagh's small dig.

Eragon mean while had been thinking and finally voiced a question that had been nagging him since before Gil'ead. "What will happen when we reach the Varden?" Something about the distant glittering stars far above him had reminded him of all the expectations resting on his and Saphira's shoulders. He felt as if the world had just opened up and the possibilities for him and Saphira were as endless as the sand dunes stretching as far as the eyes could see.

Once they had reached the Varden what would happen? There would be conflicting interests and powers that would be anxious to control him and Saphira. He wanted to know, at least what Arya expected of him, so that he had some sort of warning before throwing himself and Saphira into a snake pit. _Or perhaps, _thought Eragon, _Saphira and I could just leave that behind us. No one can force us to fight._

_Really?_ Said a nagging little voice. _Would you really be able to justify running away after all you have seen and done? What about Roran? The slaves in Dras'Leona? You are supposed to be a Rider not a coward._

__And yet, for all that, he knew that he would rather never go to the Varden. He had dreamed of a life of adventure and danger but now...now he felt as if he had chosen by some accident. Now he found himself longing for the quiet life he had lived before Saphira, when he was just Eragon. Going to the Varden would mean declaring himself once and for all. They would expect him to be the Rider who carried them to victory, who gave them hope when they had none. Fighting with the Varden meant going up against Durza, the Raz'ac and finally, Galbatorix. It meant dealing with political intrigue and traveling all the way to Du Weldenvarden for more grueling training.

"You and I must continue on to Du Weldenvarden so you can complete your training" said Arya. Her thoughts drifting towards Du Weldenvarden and what awaited Eragon and Saphira there. She was not prepared for the sharp response her answer received from Eragon.

Eragon could not help but snap, "Do Saphira and I have any say in our futures?" He knew it was wrong to vent his feelings in such a way but he was so frustrated with everything. Frustrated that he was expected to follow along and do what was asked of him by those with more 'experience.'

_Little one!_ chided Saphira from the privacy of their thoughts. You should not let yourself vent your frustration on those who have our best interests at heart.

_I don't care Saphira!_

_You should!_ she snapped before ending the conversation; her irritation with him flowing across their mental link. Eragon ignored her, breaking the contact between them as much as he ever could.

Brom met Eragon's eyes and said softly, "I know how it feels Eragon but you know the reasons for going to Du Weldenvarden. If you are going to be strong enough to match Galbatorix you must seek help from the elves. If you want to truly become a Rider you must trust Arya and I on this matter."

Eragon said nothing in response, just stared moodily at the fire. Resentment and irritation colored his thoughts a nasty red. He was tired of being treated like he knew nothing, like a child. Young he was, he wouldn't deny it, but ignorant of his and Saphira's position? No, he knew and he was tired of being treated like he didn't. Both he and Saphira had yet to truly declare his allegiance either way and that made them a dangerous enemy to both the Varden and the Empire. It made Galbatorix reluctant to attack him and Saphira directly.

Added to those thoughts was the nagging feeling that he could just leave. Fly away with Saphira once Zoe reached the Varden. He and Saphira could just leave and choose a life away from the bloodshed. Part of him refused to even consider that option after all he had seen in the Empire...but another part of him wanted to just leave it all behind. The part of him that had been longing for Carvahall and what it represented. The part of him that felt too young, too untried to even try and do half the things he would need to do as a Rider.

Neither Arya nor Brom said anything, just exchanged glances as if saying 'we will deal with this later.' That look only served to add to the growing fire of resentment that was burning within him. When would they finally treat him like the Rider he was supposed to be? When he finished training with the elves? Or when he finally proved without a shadow of the doubt, that he was now a Rider and not the farm boy from Carvahall? That time could not come soon enough for him.

Murtagh glanced at his younger half-brother who was glaring at the small fire. His intense brown eyes were stormy and his shoulders were tense. Silently Murtagh agreed with Eragon. He understood how it felt to be kept purposely in the dark while others used him to further their own plans. Arya and Brom may be noble and so might this 'Ajihad' but in the end,if Eragon did not take control of his future, he would be an easily controlled pawn. The Varden were desperate for a Rider and he had no doubt that many of it's leaders would leap at the chance to control Eragon and through him, the Varden.  
>Murtagh silently promised himself to speak to Eragon about it when he had the chance. He did not want to send his brother into the midst of such a deadly game with no warning or advice. Eragon had to, for his and Saphira's survival, take control of his own destiny. If Arya and Brom did not want to broach such a potentially volatile subject then he would. He understood all to well how difficult it was to lose ones freedom.<p>

The chance to speak with Eragon came the next day. They had stopped midmorning in the shadow of one of the rocky crevices. The horses were picketed close by and the shadow of the rocky outcrop provided some welcome shade from the hot sun. Arya and Brom were speaking quietly a little ways away and Saphira had curled up beside Eragon. Letting the two boys use her body as a sort of back rest.  
>Eragon had been moody and silent ever since the conversation last night. Speaking even less and ignoring any comment directed at him by Brom or Arya. The Rider was sitting with his back against Saphira's side, one hand idly playing with the hilt of Zar'roc. He did not react when Murtagh took a seat beside him and, in a voice to soft for anyone but Saphira and Eragon to hear, said, "Eragon, I want to speak to you about the Varden. What you will do once we reach it."<br>Eragon raised an eyebrow and said, "Why? What is there to say that you cannot say in front of Brom or Arya?"  
>"There is more than little Eragon. You know the kind of place I grew up in Eragon. Galbatorix's court was full of back stabbing nobles, social climbers and people who were all too eager to use me as their ticket to the King's graces. I had to be very careful to maintain my independence. It will be the same for you Saphira when you get to the Varden. Arya and Brom have to trust them because they are their allies but that does not mean you can't keep them at arm's length."<br>"You're saying that I should not trust the people that I must trust? The people who I need at my side if I want to kill Galbatorix?"  
>"What I'm saying is that if you don't follow your heart and guard your freedom with your life then," Murtagh paused before continuing, "then you will be an easily controlled pawn. We must trust the Varden for Zoe's sake but you should not trust them like a fool. You can't rely on Arya, she has her own loyalties and who knows what the elves will want from you. Nor can you completely trust Brom for he is closely linked to the Varden. No Eragon," Murtagh gripped his brother's shoulder, "you can only trust Saphira."<p>

Murtag had spoken with all the urgency and sincerity he could find within himself. He felt a little desperate, this was _Eragon. _His brother was hopelessly ignorant when it came to court intrigue. To him trust came easily when it shouldn't and Murtagh wished to impress apone him the importance of his words. If he could offer nothing else to the Rider then he hoped this lesson would stick.  
>For a long second there was nothing but the sound of the desert wind. The silence felt oppressive and tense as Eragon considered Murtagh's words, his face impassive as he stared at his hands. Finally, just as Murtagh was beginning to feel uncomfortable, Eragon spoke. "There is one thing I do know," said Eragon with a small smile, "and it's that I can trust you and Zoe."<br>Murtagh opened his mouth to protest but Eragon cut him off, "No, listen Murtagh. I am glad you told me this. For I admit, I know little of politics but I do know is that neither you nor Zoe will hold back information because of future plans for me and Saphira. I have become tired of Brom and Arya's silence on matters that I must understand sooner rather than later."  
>Murtagh stared silently at his brother for a long moment as he understood the full breadth of his brother's words. Eragon trusted him, yes that was easy enough feat for the Rider who had yet to experience treachery and betrayal, but still it meant a great deal more then Eragon could imagine. His brother knew his hetiage, his ubringing and yet still accepted him as if that did not matter. The novelty of it had yet to wear off.<br>Speaking softly Murtagh said, "I suppose you are right Eragon. I just hope that you remember my advice and never let another try to take your freedom from you. I don't think I'll be able to come to rescue every time! Neither will Zoe!"  
>The two boys chuckled slightly before setting up their bedrolls. Murtagh was asleep within moments but Eragon lay awake, thinking over Murtagh's words. They resonated with a part of him that had been growing steadily more and more irritated with both Brom and Arya. The part of him that Zoe had always managed to keep in check with her reassurances, challenges and encouragements.<br>_Saphira?  
>Yes little one.<br>What do you think of Murtagh's advic?  
>I agree with him but we must balance his words with our own knowledge.<br>I am worried of what our arrival in the Varden will mean. They will expect me to be something I am not yet and I have never had to deal with politics.  
>Remember little one that you have strong allies on your side. Brom, Murtagh and Zoe do not wish you to become a puppet controlled by others, nor would I allow it. Arya serves her own Queen and for that we must wary of her advice, but she can offer us her own strategies for dealing with the Varden. Trust yourself; trust our bond, our friends and what we believe in. Brom may have his own plans but he only wants what is best for us and for Alagaesia. We must trust, for now, to them and what are fighting for.<br>But Saphira that is part of the problem! I don't know if fighting the Empire is what I want. You and I can just leave this behind. No one can stop us from flying away and never looking back. Think of all the things we could do instead of this senseless and never ending fight._

_Could we little one?_ Saphira's voice had become demanding, like a challenge to his dark thoughts. _Could we abandon Zoe, Brom, Murtagh and all those who struggle under Galbaorix's rule?_

Eragon paused before saying, _I..._

_No, you know we could not. We cannot walk away without helping them. It is our fate as Rider and Dragon to fight when the time comes._

Eragon was about to argue but Saphira enveloped his consciousness in a warm blanket of love and reassurance. Before he could say anything else Eragon felt himself slipping into a dreamless sleep on the soft sand of the Hadarac Desert.

* * *

><p>This pattern of riding until the heat became unbearable and waiting until nightfall continued for another two days. It was two days of the worst travel Murtagh had ever endured. The desert seemed never ending and he found himself wondering if they would ever leave it or if they would continue to wander aimlessly around the stony crags and sand dunes.<p>

It was on the second day of riding that the distant shapes of the Beor appeared in front of them. At first both Eragon and Murtagh thought they were the shapes of hills but Arya explained to them that they really were the base of the Beors. The idea that mountains could be as huge as to be too tall to see the top of was more than a little mind blowing. He had heard the stories but had always dismissed them as exaggerations. Now, Murtagh regretted the all the times he had dismissed the stories as untrue. It made him wonder how many other stories he had dismissed as untrue were actually accurate descriptions of events or places.

With one of the first smiles he had smiled since entering the desert, Eragon said, "I hope that the animals that live in the Beors aren't in proportion to the mountains."

Arya laughed lightly and said, "I'm afraid that they are Eragon. There are bears and wolves large enough to be a formidable match for Saphira." The tension between Eragon, Arya and Brom had eased a little but it was still there; simmering under the surface like a forgotten ember. Soon there would be another confortation on the matter.

Murtagh urged Tornac forward and said over his shoulder, "What are you waiting for? We don't have any time to waste!" Looking forward at the distant mountains, Murtagh couldn't help but smile, a small balloon of hope growing inside of him. He ignored the amused looks that Arya, Eragon and Brom exchanged before catching up with him.

By the time the sun sunk below the horizon they were out of the desert completely and camped at the base of the mountains by a fast moving stream of cold mountain water. The sand had slowly transformed from loose grains of reddish sand to hard dirt to lush grasslands where gazelles bounded away from them.

* * *

><p>I was drifting with no real purpose among the distant memories of my childhood. I had a vague feeling that I was supposed to do something – something important but I couldn't remember what it was. Despite the relative peace of the darkness that surrounded me, I felt a growing urgency. Time was running out and I knew, deep down, that it was me who was running out of time. Yet, no matter what I did, I could not wake from my trance and so I lay there hoping that someone would wake me from this trance, this darkness, before I was lost to it. Before I was nothing more than a distant memory of another time lost in the sands of time.<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

The companions rose before dawn feeling refreshed and ready to continue. The sun had yet to rise but the pinkish glow to the east signaled its eminent arrival. Once Zoe was secured on Saphira's back they rode on. The horses were eager to continue and they made good progress, moving from the grasslands into the foothills that rose at the base of the giant mountains. The ground was soft and the dirt a rich black color. Eragon could not help but think that, if he ever wanted to farm again, this would be a fine place to do it.

The grasslands teamed with wildlife, from deer to hawks circling high above. For a few hours they rode in silence, their footsteps, while no less urgent, did not seem as heavy here as if they had somehow shed a little of their weariness upon entering this fair, fresh landscape. But the quiet, almost calm, air among the companions did not last for long and it was disrupted by a cold reminder of their enemies.

They had just reached the top of one of the rolling foot hills when Murtagh gasped and pulled his stallion up sharply. The sudden and surprising noise made the other's stop their horses and turn to see Murtagh had twirled Tornac to look back the way they had come – back towards the burning desert and Empire.

The reason for his abrupt halt quickly became apparent to the others as they saw a long line of black figures marching inexorably towards them. It was distant, a thin black line that was just clear enough for them to make out the crimson banner that was held aloft by some standard bearer. Murtagh clearly knew who the flag belonged to, however. Long years spent at Galbatorix's court had taught him to recognize that flag from a long distance and to avoid the one who bore it like the plague.

His voice conveying both fear and worry Murtagh said, "That flag belongs an Urgal leader." He turned his eyes to look at Brom who was squinting against the bright sunlight at the distant army.

"You know him?" asked Eragon. He felt a knot of tense fear grow inside of him. A few Urgals was bad enough but an entire army of them? Suddenly the race to save Zoe's life took on another meaning – now they might have to race to save their own.

"Do I know him?" asked Murtagh sharply. His voice rose slightly, "I know him all too well. He is the worst of his kind and if he has caught our scent then he will not let us go. Especially if he has heard about Gil'ead. It is not in his nature to allow prey to escape his clutches and if it is prey that will earn him favor with the King then he will be all the more eager to catch us alive." Murtagh clearly wanted to say more, but held his tongue as if sensing that adding more dark words would do nothing to either change the situation or increase anyone's focus.

"This must be what Zoe meant," said Brom his voice low with shocked horror. "Galbatorix is gathering an army of Urgals to destroy the Varden. She told us of this before we reached Gil'ead."

Arya grimaced and said quietly, "It seems we have another reason for our race to the Varden; warning them of this new threat."

"Not just warning them," said Murtagh tensely, "but saving our own lives. They will have found our trail by now and seen Saphira's tracks."

Reaching out to Saphira who was hunting a few leagues away, Eragon explained the situation. She was predictably worried and it took a great deal of persuasion to keep her from flying right above them. Finally she reluctantly agreed to fly high enough not to be seen but still close enough that she would be able to reach them in time should they need her help.

Nothing more was said, nothing more needed to be said. Filled with new desperation they rode harder than ever and were able to put a little distance between them and the Urgal army. It was uncertain whether or not the Urgals were following them but no one wanted to risk the chance that they were. Besides, as Murtagh had pointed out, their trail was hardly inconspicuous and, if the commander wanted to increase his standing in Galbatorix's eyes, then he would be more than anxious to capture the Rider and dragon.

No, thought Eragon as he leaned over Cadoc's sweaty neck, they were in a precarious position. On one hand there was Zoe dying slowly but surely, while, on the other, was capture and death at the hands of Urgal. Somehow, in between these two, they had to find a way to succeed and it was fraught with dangers.

It was late afternoon when Saphira informed them of a group of twenty or so horsemen traveling towards them. Eragon relayed the information along with Saphira's suggestion that they may be from the Varden. He was rather hoping it was the Varden. A few more warriors would not be amiss if it did come to fighting or at least some secret way of avoiding the Urgals and making it to the safety of Farthen Dur.

Arya quickly dismissed the idea and dashed any hopes Eragon might have come up with out of desperation. "No, the Varden would not be this far away Farthen Dür. When they do leave the Beors they travel through tunnels to Surda or Du Weldenvarden. I fear that we about to meet some slavers, ready your blades and have Saphira fly close Eragon."

"And," said Brom, "say nothing any of you. Let me speak to them and if worse comes to worst then we will need Saphira. The bands of slavers who ride in this land are a ruthless bunch."

Turning his thoughts to Saphira, Eragon told her, _It may be slavers, stay close and be ready to fight. _Saphira angled her flight so she was hidden in a cloud straight above them.

It was not long before they saw a cloud of swirling dust, the bright flash of steel in the sunlight and the crazed look in the horse's eyes. Arya raised the hood of her cloak to cover her face and all of them loosened their swords in preparation of a fight.

"Could we not out ride them?" asked Eragon. He felt the familiar buzz of adrenalin that accompanied the start of every fight and yet he wished they could just outride these men. He had killed before, but it was not some he wished to experience again.

"No," said Murtagh, "look at their horses. They are built for speed while ours are meant for war and distance not sprinting. Even if we could Snowfire, Tornac, Cadox and Melynlas do not have the energy to outlast them for any great distance. Better to face them now."

"Remember, let me do the talking," said Brom in a low voice. "I have dealt with situations like this before."

Eragon and Murtagh exchanged glances, silently agreeing that no matter how many situations similar to this one Brom had been in, that did not give them any guarantee of safety. Besides, each moment that they waited, each second that ticked by, brought enemies closer and Zoe a little closer to the doorstep of Death.

The riders stopped their horses at the top of the hill and looked down at them. Looking the group of twenty or so scruffy riders any hope that they were merely scouts for the Varden quickly faded. These men looked like the dregs of society from Dras'Leona that Eragon had seen lurking in the shadows of buildings. Their weapons were rusty and uncared for - no trained soldier would ever let his equipment fall into disrepair. After all, in battle a sharp sword could mean life or death as could a well strung bow or oiled knife. But these men were rough. They had a vicious, desperate look to them as if the hard struggle for life had taught them only one thing and that was to fight and fight hard.

Eragon dropped his hand to the wire wrapped hilt of Zar'oc. Beside him Murtagh muttered, "I think this is going to turn into a bloody fight."

Arya glanced at him briefly, "I fear you are right Murtagh." The elf looked completely calm, her green irises examining the men with a calculating glint. Everything about her spoke of the relaxed calm before a storm breaks or the slowly increasing pressure on a spring before it snaps back.

Eragon turned his attention back to the men watching from the hill. His insides jumped with nerves but on the outside he felt calm, ready. He had to come to expect, even welcome these feelings. He knew that they were what made him truly alive, what gave him the courage and strength to fight and win. Besides, he whispered in his mind, Saphira is around and she can always step in if things get too out of hand.

The leader of the men suddenly let loose a wild war cry and swirled his mace in the air as he galloped his horse straight towards the four riders. Cadoc shifted nervously under Eragon but he soothed the worried horse with his mind while also impressing upon him the importance of listening to him when the time came. It was difficult to convey these feelings to Cadoc but Eragon felt reasonably confident that, when the fight began, the horse would not act silly. While Cadoc had been in a few small skirmishes, the horse was not the trained war horse that Tornac was. He did not yet know how to evade a javelin or how to hold his course when all his instincts told him to flee.

When they were completely surrounded, the leader drew his horse to stop in front of them. His face was unpleasant with greasy brown hair, a ragged beard and small, black beady eyes that examined them critically as if they were interesting vases for sale at a market and he wished to make a smart purchase. Eragon found him deeply repulsive, and he could see from the faint scowl on Murtagh's face that his brother was of the same opinion.

He smiled, showing a few broken and missing teeth, and said in an overly cheerful voice, "Well, well, look at what we have here boys! What are you lot doing out this far from the safety of your home?"

The men around them exchanged amused smirks as if sharing an inside joke. Eragon's hand on Zar'oc tightened even more, he longed to yank the sword from its sheath and act as impulsively has he had when the Urgals had chased them. However, a voice that sounded like Zoe's whispered, _Remember what happened that time? Wait until the right time and strike when they don't expect it._ Thinking of his friend gave Eragon some heart. Zoe would never have backed down when confronted by these men, but neither would she have acted rashly.

"What is to you?" asked Brom coolly. "I suggest you leave, and quickly, or we will have to resort to rather unpleasant methods."

"You dare to threaten me and my men?" The leader smiled a crooked smile and shook his head in amusement. It was clear to the companions that both he and his men found the idea of them posing any sort of threat to be ludicrous enough to be amusing A few of the unshaved, rough looking men laughed aloud. The sound of their laughter was harsh against the air and it made the horses prance nervously.

"Let me tell you this old man, slaves - which means you - do not ask questions nor do they speak out of line. If you're too old to learn that then we might just have to stick you full of arrows and take that lovely lady and these two strong lads. They will fetch a high price."

Eragon glared angrily at the slaver. His anger was beginning to boil through his veins and he did not need to look at Murtagh or Arya to know that they were as ready as he to fight. They all were experiencing the urge to teach these slavers a lesson. As he gazed at these men he remembered the slaves he had seen in the Empire. Men, women and children who bore the cruel scars of whips and manacles. Was this not what he, as a Rider, was supposed to do? Avenge these wrongs?

In the end they did not need to wait long.

Before the leader of the slavers could do anything or say anything more, Brom whipped his sword out of its sheath. Eragon immediately understood, yanking Zar'oc out he pressed his heels to Cadoc's sides and, at the same time, he roared to Saphira, _Now!_ High above he felt her begin a steep dive straight toward them.

The suddenness of their attack surprised the slavers and they were unprepared when the companions struck. Eragon engaged a man, easily disarming him before delivering the fatal blow. For a second the Rider was stunned – he had killed – but there was little time to think on what he had just done or the sword in his  
>hand which seemed to glitter with vicious glee.<p>

Beside him Murtagh fought with a savage gleam in his eyes as if possessed by some demon. A little ways away Eragon saw Melynlas rear as Arya dueled fiercely with three men, her blade shining red with blood. Eragon returned his attention completely to the slaver in front of him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he traded blows before once again finding an opening and killing the man in front of him. The slavers were not the skilled opponents that Eragon was used to fighting. These men had never had the lessons in technique or learned the discipline that he had, but, instead, relied on brute force and numbers.

Just the slavers had begun to recover from the surprise of their attack they received another surprise. This one was the last thing any of them could ever have expected. In fact, it was the kind of thing few people would have expected if they had been in the slaver's position. For, diving down from a fluffy white cloud with her blue scales all a glitter was Saphira.

A real and very much alive dragon.

An angry dragon to.

Could any man be blamed for fleeing?

The sight of the dragon as she flared her massive blue wings and landed with a mighty thud on the ground sent the horses into a frenzied panic. To Eragon, however, she had never looked more magnificent or more like a legend of days long past. Her blue scales and ivory claws contrasted against the bright green grass. Those giant blue eyes, usually kind and gentle, glowed red with anger and they were fixed on the slavers.

And this dragon, this beautiful Saphira, was his to call partner! That he was lucky enough, nay privileged, to be bonded with her made his heart leap with wild joy and his entire self-felt alive with the wonder of it all.

_I am glad you are impressed, _she said with a small laugh in his mind.

_I am more than impressed, _he said to her with a silent laugh of his own. _I am awe-struck. _

Opening her jaws wide the dragoness roared. The roar conveyed her obvious anger and that was all it took to send the slavers galloping away. Their horses were running blind with fear and the men all too eager to be gone as fast as possible in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between them and the dragon as was possible. Even Melynlas, Cadoc, Snowfire and Tornac, used to Saphira, shied away from her and loosed their own nervous whinnies into the sky.

_Yes, _said the dragon to Eragon, _that was very well done if I do say so myself. _

_It was superb. _

In the mad rush to escape, the leader of the slavers was thrown by his horse as the animal had spun and bolted. As the dust cleared, the Rider was able to see him as he really was when not surrounded by his ragged warriors. When he pushed himself up Eragon realized that he was not a very big man nor did he look like any kind of threat – he had lost his cocky air and mocking words. Now he just looked pathetic in his open fear. Brom rode Snowfire forward, bloody sword raised as he gazed down at the man. The white stallion's sides were splattered with red gore and he danced on the spot, his black hooves sinking into the soft turf that was stained with the red blood of the fallen men.

In a very cold voice, Brom spoke, "I will spare your life. Not that you deserve it but because I will not kill an unarmed man in such a way no matter who they are or what they have done."

Murtagh muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Eragon to hear, "So much for knowing how to deal with situations like this."

Inside Eragon was torn. On one hand he agreed with Murtagh and on the other he agreed with Brom. Because, suddenly, he found himself not sure that he could kill a man if it was not in open combat. Could he look into someone's eyes and kill them without hesitation if it was not in the heat of battle? Even if he knew the full scope of their crimes and knew, logically, that they deserved the death? Suddenly he was quite glad that he was not the one in Brom's place and that, despite having killed men; he had never had to sentence anyone to death. He was not sure he had the…was it courage? Or ruthlessness? He did not know. This problem was beyond him for, in the end, he knew he was still very young and this kind of experience he had not garnered yet.

Arya obviously took Murtagh's side and rode Melynlas forward, bloody sword still held high as if ready to duel Brom over the matter. Splattered with gore and in her dirty clothes, the elf looked a little less perfect to Eragon's eyes though no less fierce or dangerous.

The elf's eyes flashed with furious anger and when she spoke her voice cracked like a cold whip, "Why Brom? Why would you spare this coward's life? He does not deserve it."

Brom sent her an icy glare, "There are limits Dröttning. Limits in how far I will go when it comes to killing. Let this be a lesson to you, Eragon and to you, Murtagh." With that Brom pressed his heels to Snowfire's sides, the white stallion leapt forward and the other's had no choice but to follow. Saphira returned to air and flew directly above them, scouting the land for any more dangers that might slow their progress. Eragon looked back to see the shape of the slaver still standing very still, watching them gallop away.

_Do you agree with Brom? h_e asked her.

_I don't know little one. You humans like to complicate things. Yet I think Brom was right and yet, Arya also had a point. I would have killed him without thinking of it but that is a dragon's way. Perhaps it is the wrong way for you two-legs; pointy eared or not._

_Perhaps. I don't think Brom and Arya are going to be able to speak to each other for a little while._

__No__ said Saphira with an amused chuckle. _They tested the limits of who is leading us. It was a conflict that was going to happen sooner or later._

_I suppose but I wish it wasn't now. We don't have time for such arguments. __After a moment he voiced the question: How is Zoe?_

Saphira was silent for a long while when she spoke there was a note of worry - unusual for a dragon such as her - in her voice. _Not well I think. She has stirred a few times but I sense that her thoughts are troubled. We must hurry; her time is running out fast. I fear that you and I may have to fly ahead if we do not reach the valley soon._

_The Varden...you know the dangers that await us there. __He was not sure he wished to face not only the scrutiny but the politics that would try and ensnare them in loyalties and unbreakable oaths. _

_It is face those dangers, __she replied grimly, or face capture and imprisonment._

_From the frying pan into the fire. _

Eragon turned his attention back to the figure of Brom in front of him. His sword was back in its sheath and Eragon could not help but remember the way it had felt to wield Zar'oc in such a way. If this was any sign of what lay in front of him, then this fight was nothing more than a small skirmish. His stomach turned as he thought of some of the battles that he would no doubt have to fight in. Those would be bloody things that would stretch on for hours and hours until he could barely keep track of which side he was on.

Glancing upwards, he took comfort in the sight of Saphira riding high on the breeze and the knowledge that she would always be with him. Yet looking up at her reminded him of Zoe and of her fate if they did not reach the Varden soon. Urging Cadoc onwards with gentle thoughts Eragon forced himself to think of nothing but the surging horse beneath him and the bright, warm sun on his back.

That was enough. He had barely enough strength to think of more or the man left, alone, on a hillside in the blood of dead men behind them. What was one man when compared to the thought of Urgal soldiers who marched steadily from that direction as well?

* * *

><p>And so the race continued.<p>

Rest was a scarce commodity for all. Added to the exhaustion that they all felt was the coldness between Brom and Arya after the slaver incident. Neither the elf nor the man could speak with each other except for brief, terse statements on their course or the Urgals that remained behind them. When they did manage to spit out a sentence it was so cold and sharp that it made Murtagh and Eragon wince. It was clear that the disagreement between Brom and Arya went deeper than just leaving the slaver alive. It was a matter of leadership. It had become a matter of what was right and what was wrong. A conflict between justice set down by law and morals.

The two brothers did all they could to remain out of the way of the elf and man. The two took turns leading the other's horse so that one of them could sleep while riding. At points they dismounted and ran beside the horses to give them a chance to rest - at least for a little. In those hours that melded into one long stretch of nothing but travel and constant worry, Eragon had never felt closer to Murtagh - the steady presence of his older half-brother giving him a little strength. He would wonder, much later, if Murtagh had felt the same.

The travel, while hard on all of them, was particularly difficult for Brom. His body just was not up to the stress of little-to-no sleep and constant riding. Eragon had the feeling that that was why this disagreement between him and Arya was so bitter. The old man was feeling every one of his battle scars and was in was of his most foul moods. His face wore a constant glare that, Eragon was sure, could set someone on fire if they dared meet it.

They rode through the night, covering league after league in a tireless march. At dawn the next day they were able to navigate their way around the base of one of the Beors and through a dense forest before they once more emerged into the open. Only then, as they came out of the trees in the clear light of dawn, could they see the narrow entrance to the valley that eventually led to the dwarves and the Varden. The pass was just under a mile wide and densely forested with the swift, clear river of the Beartooth flowing out of it.

In a brief moment of rest before entering the valley, Eragon asked Murtagh if he thought they would be able to throw the Urgals off by slipping into the pass. It was a feeble hope but it gave the Rider a little heart when he desperate for anything that glimmered with a faint speck of hope. It was certainly the simplest way – if only way – of evading the Kull and not leading them straight towards the Varden's hideout. Because - if one brings an army of enemies with them – it is unlikely that one will make any friends with those that are supposed to be their allies. No one would appreciate a hundred fully armed Kull beating down their door...

Murtagh shook his head and said in a low voice, "No. I don't think we can leave them so easily. Think how long they have tracked us...they will follow us as long as they have some sort of trail. It's too bad that Brom can't cover it with magic but I don't have the nerve to ask him or Arya. I fear I may end up with a sword through my gut." His voice faded as the young man dropped his head to look at the dark ground. His scarred hands played with a small twig as if, after the constant movement of riding and running, he could not bring himself to relax and sit still for even a few moments.

Eragon smiled grimly at Murtagh's attempt at some humor, "Too true. I think we just have to keep silent and not say anything."

Murtagh grunted and no more said. The two brothers returned their thoughts and then, at a signal from Brom, they had to return to their uncomfortable saddles and focus on staying upright. That was enough to think about without adding everything else on top.

In his mind, never stopping and never lessening in urgency, a small voice whispered: _Hurry! You must hurry!_

* * *

><p>They had just gone a few miles into the steep sided valley when Saphira contacted Eragon. Her voice was urgent; <em>The Urgals are gaining on you. They will reach the entrance to the valley soon.<em>

Quickly Eragon relayed the information to the others. The knowledge that the Urgals were slowly but inexorably over taking them added new urgency to their steps. Trying to assist them in any way she could, Saphira began to drop boulders down on the Urgal army. There were plenty rocks large enough to cause serious damage by the shore of the Beartooth, but it did not slow the Urgals down for long. They kept on with a determination that impressed as well as frightened Eragon.

The companions stopped for a brief rest in a clearing just as a few stars appeared high above them. The respite provided Eragon with a chance to check on Zoe who was still strapped to Saphira. He did so with hesitation, worried that he would find her too far gone for there to be any kind of hope for her.

But she was still alive when he checked on her and the straps that secured her to the saddle. Her forehead was, however, dangerously hot and her eyes wandered uneasily beneath their lids as if she wished to wake from a nightmare. There were bright red splotches on her white cheeks and she looked as if she had lost a great deal of weight. Eragon was used to seeing her as someone strong, collected and, always, brilliantly alive that, to see her now, made him feel both terribly hopeless and frightened. She was teetering on the edge of death and, while he knew she would not go without a fight, she was fighting a losing battle unless they got the Varden soon.

When he told the others of her condition Arya grimaced and looked away as if remembering she might have been the one in Zoe's position. "She does not have long. Three days at most if that. The fever is a sign that the poison is spreading. We can do nothing for her but ride all the harder." No one said anything, Brom just continued to glower from underneath his bushy eyebrows, Murtagh scowled darkly as if it might make some sort of difference and Arya just turned and mounted Melynlas.

Eragon gave Saphira a quick embrace before she took to the air again and said, _Let me know if anything changes with Zoe and keep an eye on the Urgals._

_I will little one. Stay safe, this forest is old and who knows what wanders in it. These mountains are old and things that should not have been forgotten have._

Eragon nodded before mounting Cadoc and following the others from the small clearing. The valley, while narrow was densely forested with giant, ancient trees that gave off a dark, almost angry air as if their very presence angered the trees. Running beside them was the fast flowing Beartooth River. At points the travelers were forced to follow narrow game trails, often having to dismount to move around dead fall and low hanging tree branches. No moonlight filtered through the dense branches and a damp fog rose from the ground making everything even more murky and unwelcoming. The forest at day was murky enough but at night it became threatening. The shadows looked like monsters that were about to leap out at them and strange sounds came from them as if they were being watched by hidden creatures. Occasionally, in the soft ground, Eragon saw the tracks of giant animals, though if any of them were close they choose to stay away as if sensing the presence of a dragon or merely deciding they weren't worth the effort.

In the darkest hours of night Eragon asked Saphira, _How is Zoe?_

_Fading fast_, was her grim reply. _Her fever has worsened dramatically and it is lucky she is strapped in or she would have fallen off me with all her tossing and thrashing. I cannot ease her mind for she has not lowered her walls._

_If we don't get to the Varden by mid-morning then I will fly ahead with you._

_We will have to, w_as Saphira's short reply.

Eragon could not help but wonder at fate and the twists it took. Not only was his best friend dying from poison but they were all running for their lives from Urgals. Not just any Urgals but Kull which were the largest of their kind who lived for war and bloodshed. They were the kind of monsters that elders told young children to frighten them and keep them from wandering from their homes.

Sighing in exhaustion Eragon redoubled his speed to keep pace with the others as he ran beside Cadoc. The bay gelding was so tried that he barely picked his feet up as he trotted. Eragon had to be careful that the gelding did not stumble on a rock or one of the overly large pine cones that littered the trail. He hated pushing his horse so, but he had no choice. He did his best to convey his gratitude to the horse and, whenever they stopped, he tried to rub away some of the sweat from the gelding's once brilliant red coat.

It was mid-morning when Arya said, a note of relief in her lyrical voice, "We are close! Just a little more…"

Eragon glanced behind them; he could almost swear he heard the sounds of heavy footsteps – were those Urgal footsteps? Pulling Cadoc along he tried to pick up speed. The end of their journey gave him new energy as did the feeling that he was being followed.

Half an hour later came a sound that all of them dreaded: the harsh, piercing call of an Urgal horn from behind them. "Hurry!" cried Arya her voice tinged with desperation. "We are almost there!"

Somewhere, a part of Eragon thought sarcastically, _Hurry? What does she think we have been doing since Gil'ead? Sightseeing?_

It was not long before the sound of a waterfall reached their ears. A thundering, crashing sound that grew louder with every footstep they took along the narrow path between the towering trees. With the last of their strength they burst forward and broke out onto the rocky shore of a deep, clear blue lake. At long last they had reached their destination.

The lake of Kóstha-mérna was surrounded by high stone cliffs with only a narrow passage on either side that lead to the waterfall. The water crashed and rumbled at the far end of lake, drowning out any sound as it pounded against the rock. The shore of the lake was made up of small, smooth pebbles that were slippery under the horse's hooves and Eragon's boots. The spray from the waterfall made everything sparkle and quickly dampened the travelers with a fine mist of water droplets.

But they did not pause to admire the sight of the water or the magnificent waterfall.

Taking the lead, Arya led Melynlas around the right side of the thundering falls. The mare whinnied nervously but did as she was told, vanishing behind a curtain of white spray. It seemed that there was a narrow gap between the rock cliff and the water. Brom followed her and then Murtagh was next. The young man had to cover Tornac's eyes to convince the horse to trust him. Just as Eragon reached the gap, slipping and sliding on the stones, the sound of a mighty bellow made him turn. The rocks, made slippery by the water, nearly caused him to fall into the water but he regained his balance and stopped Cadoc as he did so.

Standing at the edge of the length was a Kull.

The feeling that he was being followed suddenly made sense. The Urgals had sent out a single runner to keep pace with them until the rest of the army could arrive. Despite himself, Eragon could not help but take a brief moment and admire the Kull before him. His horns glittered black and he stood out against the dark trees with the crystal water at his feet. The Kull was both mighty in his size and strength, the sheer brute force combined with a kind of grace that made the Kull a nearly unstoppable force.

The Rider and the Kull gazed at each other for a long moment.

Two enemies meeting in this beautiful, hidden place.

Before either the Kull or Eragon could do anything Saphira took matters into her own hands or, in Saphira's case, talons. The blue dragon dived towards the Kull her claws outstretched as she would do if the Urgul was nothing more than a deer she had hunted down. The Kull tried to raise his spear but Saphira was too fast. She grabbed the creature in her ivory claws and lifted it high into the air. The Kull struggled but one of Saphira's claws pierced his chest and killed him before she dropped the now limp body into the lake. A red stain spread across the clear blue water like a warning.  
>Knowing that they would soon be dealing with more than one Kull, Eragon turned quickly and led Cadoc through the gap as Saphira followed close behind. She did not bother with the narrow gap, but dived into the clear water and went under the crashing torrent of water.<p>

Eragon emerged into a massive cavern whose walls and ceiling was coated in shadow. He was looking at the back of the waterfall now, the blue and white water tumbling and crashing down into the lake before it flowed out in the Beartooth River. Small, tear drop lights sent out enough light to illuminate a large door at the far end and the scene before him.

For, what was happening inside the cavern was what Eragon noticed when he finally managed to pull his eyes away from the massive cavern that he had just found himself in. Brom, his eyes blazing with fury, was holding the edge of his sword to the neck of a white robed, bald man.


	20. The Varden

Seconds ticked by.

But neither Brom nor the man moved.

No one moved. It was hard to breathe and impossible to tear one's eyes away from the event taking place in the center of the room.

Soldiers stood nervously around watching as the two men waged a silent, invisible battle. From the look of intense concentration on both of their faces they were both lost in a mental duel. A vein was bulging in Brom's forehead from the effort he was spending and the other man was grimacing as if in pain, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. A thin line of blood was trailing down the bald man's neck and staining the white robe with crimson. The tension on the air was so thick that it made breathing hard and the roaring water was deafening.

In his weariness, Eragon could barely concentrate on more than one thing at a time and, so, when Arya came up to him talking softly with a short, stout hairy little man who carried an axe in one hand, he almost jumped and pulled his sword out before he realized that they were not enemies. Or at least the short little man could not be an enemy if…no…wait for that was no man or child. It was a dwarf. The first one Eagon had met anywhere but in stories. He came up to Eragon's waist, his thick beard was braided into heavy plaits and his stout figure spoke of strength and an unyielding personality. The dwarf was shaking his head vigorously at the elf and Eragon wondered, tiredly, what they were speaking of. But, before he could manage to say anything, he was distracted once more by an all too familiar noise: the whoosh of an arrow above his head.

Reactions that had been honed by fighting and his already strained nerves made him spin; one hand flying to his sword as he automatically entered a fighting stance. His weight was slightly forward, his muscles ready for immediate action and his eyes searching for the source of the arrow. The projectile itself was of Urgal make and had landed just inside the cavern with a clatter. The Urgals must be firing straight at the waterfall and few lucky arrows were managing to make it inside. Worriedly Eragon looked towards the soldiers, they would need to act soon or the Urgal's would decide to find out just what lay on the other side of the thundering curtain of water. Saphira had killed the only Urgal to have seen their escape route, but the monsters would soon figure it out and quickly over run them.

The dwarf cursed loudly in a language that reminded Eragon vaguely of rocks cracking against each other, and said, in a booming voice, "By the gods, you just had to bring an army with you elf." He was glaring at Arya as if the elf princess had purposely brought the Uruks with her just to annoy the dwarf.

Arya shrugged and she did not appear either affronted by the words or amused. Instead she said rather casually, "I am sorry Orik. I did not mean to but certain circumstances have led to this."

The dwarf grunted and said, "Elves! Never take responsibility for the mess they always create!" Eragon stared at the dwarf in open shock; he must be a good friend of Arya for he doubted few would dare say something like that to the elvish princess. Never, in his wildest dreams, would the Rider dare speak such words to the proud, cold princess.

Raising his battle axe the dwarf turned to the soldiers and barked, "What are you lot doing? Get to your posts or you can explain to Ajihad why you let an army of Kull inside Farthen Dür! Hurry up or we'll all go to chopping block!" His words had an instantaneous effect on the soldiers who all exchanged nervous looks before hurrying towards some stairs that must have led to their 'posts.' They left Brom and the bald man in the center of the cavern; the white magician and the old story teller were still locked in their mental duel.

Arya put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, "Can I leave you with Rider Eragon? One of our companions is in need of healing."

The dwarf glanced at Eragon and the Rider had the feeling that he was being evaluated as if he was a particularly interesting tool. Eragon suddenly wished he had the strength to stand on his own two feet without leaning against the solid, warm body of Cadoc and that he was not smeared with dried blood, dirt and sweat. He was quite aware that, at that moment, he bore no resemblance to any kind of Rider from the old stories but a footsore soldier.

With a grumbling sigh the dwarf said, "Go then elf." He clapped a hand on Arya's lower back and the force of the blow made the elf stumble slightly on the stony floor of chamber, "But you have some explaining to do. Thought you were dead for long enough I started missing our arguments." A grim, almost sad sort of smile made the dwarf's craggy features soften a little.

The words made Arya smile slightly though it quickly faded as she turned to Eragon. "Stay here until I return." Her tone booked no argument and Eragon had no reason to even dream of not doing as she said. He was running on the last of his flagging strength and was more than willing to stay right where he was - with Saphira and his horse. Besides, someone had to watch over Brom and the man who had, according to Zoe, betrayed the Varden to the King and, because of this, led to Arya's capture and Saphira's arrival in the Spine.

Eragon nodded and with Murtagh's help, undid the straps that held Zoe in place on Saphira. The young woman was limp in their arms. She had stopped tossing and turning in fevered dreams, but she still burned with the fever which only seemed to have risen since Eragon had last checked on her. The few breaths Zoe seemed to be managing came in short quick gasps while, under Eragon's finger tips, her pulse was thrummed weakly.

A dark fear grew inside of the Rider as he gazed into her pale, sweaty face. Had they come too late? Yes, she did still draw breath, but she was very weak and the poison had had a great deal of time to spread. Could a healer, even if they had the antidote, draw her back from the very edge of death? He tried to push the fears away, but he could not stop the hopelessness that rose within him like a chocking black cloud. They couldn't lose her after all of this!

Almost reluctantly he passed her over to Murtagh who then, at a signal from Arya, followed her through the massive door at the end of the hallway. His brother was carrying Zoe's limp body carefully as though afraid of dropping her. While relieved that Zoe was finally off to the healers and his brother saftely under Arya's command, Eragon could not help but wish that he, too, was off with them. Instead, he was left with four exhausted horses, a grumpy looking dwarf and a mental duel between the bald man and his father.

_And me, _rumbled Saphira in his mind.

_And a good thing to, _he said with a faint smile in response feeling only slightly better as he glanced at his companion.

With a hefty sigh the dwarf who was standing just in front of Eragon said, "I'm Orik." The dwarf was leaning against the half of his axe – a weapon that was easily as tall as the dwarf and so heavy looking that Eragon doubted he would be able to lift it.

With a slight bow, Eragon said, "Well met Orik. This is Saphira."

The blue dragon twisted her head around to look at Orik and said, _Well met Orik._

The dwarf nodded his head in greeting before saying, with an uneasy glance at the two men in the center of the room, "Brom. Never thought I'd see him again but I am glad someone's decided to kill the Twin's. They deserve the worst punishment possible especially if they've betrayed us."

Nodding in agreement Eragon said, "There are two of them?"

"Yes, they came to the Varden offering their magical skill the backstabbing traitors." The obvious anger in the dwarf's tone spoke of a personal disagreement with the two magicians as well as a great deal of anger at the idea that the two had betrayed them all. Choosing not reply Eragon leaned his head against Saphira's side. He could not offer any assistance to Brom and could only wait until the duel was decided. At which point, decided the Rider, someone had better offer him a bed or he would fall down and sleep on the floor.

What an impression that would make. A Rider! The first Rider for a century who was not allied with the King, asleep on the floor while his father, a rebel leader, dueled silently with a traitor and one of their companions – a girl from another world! – was healed from a deadly poison while an elf had supposedly returned from dead and a son of Morzan fretted over the bedside of the dying girl.

Oh yes…_what _an impression that would make.

* * *

><p>Arya led Murtagh through a dizzying collection of passages, doors, and stairs and not once did they encounter anyone. Perhaps that was the point of the route Arya took, but Murtagh could not help but wonder if there was anyone inside this massive, hollow mountain. It was eerily silent and deserted. Their footsteps echoed on the stone passages and floors hollowly.<p>

Finally, after so many twists and turns and staircases that Murtagh lost count of them all, they reached a long, circular shaped corridor. It was the first corridor on which doors led off on either side and at regular intervals on the corridor; tear drop lights cast their bright light across the walls. In their clear light Murtagh was suddenly aware of how filthy he was and how desperately in need of a good bath and change of clothes. Dried blood, flaking off in brown flecks, covered his gloved hands and he could only imagine what his face looked like. He doubted that, at any time before this, he had ever been this filthy or disheveled. He had, after all, been raised as nobility and, even during the past few months of travel, they had never been so far away from a source of water that he couldn't remove the worst of the grime.

But now…well now he was sure he not only looked terrible but smelled terrible.

Arya marched onwards to the largest door at the end of the hall and he followed with the unconscious Zoe in his arms. Without breaking stride the elf pushed the door open with her shoulder to reveal a long white walled room with beds along one side and cabinets on the other. At the end was a balcony but curtains were half drawn across it and they blocked the view it overlooked. It was brightly lit and immaculate. As they stepped inside, their footsteps rang in the silence and there was not a single healer in sight. This did not seem to bother Arya who gestured at one of the empty, white sheeted beds. The elf was moving towards one set of cabinets and her face was set in a kind of determination that made Murtagh wonder if she actually knew what she was doing.

Gently Murtagh placed Zoe on the white, soft bed on which she looked not only even paler, but small against the white sheets and white walls. The young woman was so still and pale that Murtagh could have mistaken her for a statue had it not been for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Fear, no terror, began to claw at his heart. This was Zoe – his friend and ally…the fears were growing and it took all of Murtagh's considerable self-control to force it all away. Fear had no place in his heart, it never had nor would it anytime soon – especially when it would do nothing to save the quickly fading girl before him.

Forcing himself to look away, he saw Arya rummaging in one cabinets as she searched for something, but, before he could speak, the door at the end of the long, high ceilinged room burst open to reveal one of the oddest looking people Murtagh had ever seen. Her hair was bright red and curled every which way while her clothes were a rough assortment of patches that made her look a little like some sort of circus tent. In fact, she looked like someone one might see at a circus – was this a Varden healer? He was barely able to restrain his skepticism as he gazed at the women with eyes that ached with exhaustion.

In an irritated voice the woman said, "Good Lord! Arya what do you think you are doing?!" Her hands were planted solidly on her wide hips and she was glaring at the elf as if Arya were a child about to take a cookie from a cookie jar when she had been expressly told not to.

A memory suddenly surfaced in Murtagh's mind as he studied the face of this strange, new arrival. Was it? Could it be? He thought he remembered this woman's face bent over him as he lay on a bed, his back hurting with fiery intensity – when he was still a young child who hadn't quite realized the fate that he had been given just because of his parentage. This was the healer that had saved him after Morzan had nearly killed him. He could still her – for it was her - murmuring soothing words as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The gentleness of her hands as she bathed his fevered face with cool clothes. If she was here to help Zoe...perhaps there was hope for her after all. He knew well what skill this healer possessed – he was living testament to it.

Turning around quickly Arya bowed her head in respect – a move that surprised Murtagh – and said, "I am searching for the antidote for Zoe. Why are you here Angela?"

"Why do you think?" snapped Angela. "I am saving this girl's life! I tell her to be careful but does she listen? No!" With that Angela drew a vial of some black liquid from a sleeve and seeing Murtagh she made shooing motions towards the balcony. She didn't even bother with a greeting or any sign of recognition as if they had not spent weeks together all those years ago. "Get gone with you Murtagh! I can't have you hanging around here. You can wait on the balcony until I say you can see her and don't you dare try to disobey me!"

Even all these years after the last time he had heard that voice, it still inspired quick results even though his heart longed to stay by Zoe's side and make sure that she did actually make it through to morning. But he could not. That healer was not one to cross and he would not delay Zoe's healing by being stubborn. Moving as quickly as he could in his weary, sore state Murtagh went to the balcony. He had long since decided that he would rather face Kull then incur the wrath of that particular healer. Her tongue could be as sharp as his sword and, yet, she was also one of the few people in his life that had never tried to use him. No, he trusted that healer as much as he could ever trust anyone even if she did make him feel like a young child being told to leave the adults to their talks.

The balcony at the end of the Healing Hall was as wide as the chamber and there were a few reclining chairs and cushioned chairs that looked like heaven to his travel sore body. The balcony overlooked a city, a busy dwarven city of shining marble. At another time, if he had more energy or his heart was not so torn, he might have admired the view and the wondrous city of white marble in the center of a hollow mountain. But he had neither the heart nor energy to wonder or gaze in awe at this wonder of dwarven skill.

The Healing Hall was quite a bit higher than the city, set into the side of the mountain that surrounded the city, but it gave Murtagh a rather excellent view of the buildings, markets, gardens, streets, twisting allies and courtyards that made up Tronjeihm. The stories he had heard did not do justice to what the dwarves had accomplished by creating this hollowed out city. He noted that rather distantly as he sunk into one of the cushioned chairs that looked too comfortable to pass up.

Despite his best attempts to stay awake and aware of his surroundings he quickly found himself drifting off to sleep. He was too tired - too strung out emotionally to keep himself awake any longer. One hand firmly fixed on the hilt of his sword and the other on a hidden knife, the young man fell into the first true sleep he had for a long, long time. A light breeze ruffled his sweaty, blood matted hair and his face relaxed as he was pulled into a deep, black sleep.

For once he did not dream. He just slept in the quiet peace of the balcony - dead to the world.

* * *

><p>"Can you save her Angela?" Looking at the pale, still girl Arya was about as hopeful for her chances of survival as she was of the dwarves giving up their gods. Zoe had been under the influence of the poison for close to two weeks and the constant travel would not have helped matters. She was only human after all and, unlike an elf or Rider, she did not have the endurance or the healing abilities. If she lived it would be by pure luck and Angela's skill. The girl's hair looked even darker against her pale face and the white sheets.<p>

Angela shot her a dark look before saying snappily, "If you can't say anything worth my attention then leave princess. I am not here to listen to your pessimism. If Zoe dies on my watch then I will be in for a tongue lashing like you wouldn't believe."

Wisely choosing to say nothing, Arya continued to gently bathe Zoe's sweaty brow with a cool cloth. Angela had given the girl the antidote but trying to lower the girl's fever and remove the poison that still flowed through her veins was a complex business. Angela had had Arya busy mixing a number of different herbal remedies before then setting the elf the task of keeping Zoe's fever down with cold clothes. Basic things that, according to the Herbalist, was all Arya was good for when it came to matters of healing.

At one point three of the Varden's healers had arrived but were sent packing by Angela who told them that they, "barely deserved the title of 'healer' and to go make be useful somewhere else. Thank you very much." Privately Arya agreed with the Herbalist that the Varden's healers would not be able to help Zoe. They were used to battle injuries not complex, deadly poisons, but they did serve a purpose and, without them, the Varden would have lost many a warrior over the years.

At last Angela sighed and sat down heavily on an empty bed. Running a hand though her curly red hair the Herbalist said tiredly, "I can do nothing more for her. Whether she lives or not is up to greater powers then I can command. You may go Arya, I will stay with her."

Arya nodded and rose from her chair, leaving the rag in the bowl of cold water on the bedside table. Before turning to leave she said, "Send for me when Murtagh wakes, I do not want him wandering around until we have spoken with Ajihad."

The Herbalist nodded and said, "I am glad to see him out in the open again."

"One more thing," said Arya turning to look back at Angela for the question had been burning on the tip of her tongue for so long she could resist voicing it, "why is Zoe so important? What has she done that makes you run to her aid?"

_What does she do to make everyone run to her aid? I am growing sick of this endless circle of questions and you, Angela, are not someone who acts with a purpose or without some sort of important reason. Why? Why'o why? _

The Herbalist grinned widely, her eyes glittering with mischievous humor as if the question and the open thoughts that Arya wore in her green eyes were amusing because, to her, the answer was so simple and obvious. In a low voice that seemed heavy with meaning to the elf the Herbalist asked, "What hasn't she done would be a better question Arya." With that the Herbalist drew out her knitting from some hidden pocket in her patchwork of brightly colored clothing and began clacking away, creating some sort of knitted creation that would, no doubt, do something completely obscure or useless. On the bed the young woman, Zoe, lay completely still and silent as she drifted between life and death.

Knowing better then to engage in a duel of half answers when she was this tired, Arya left the Healing Hall.

She walked back to where she had left Eragon, Brom, Saphira, Orik and the horses. Knowing the way back to the entrance cavern like the back of her hand, she allowed her thoughts to return to the confusing, contradicting person that was Zoe. Brom was holding back when it came to her as was Murtagh, Eragon and Saphira. Not that they had much chance to discuss it, but they had even been vague about how they met her. Why? For what reason did they shroud her in secrecy? Was it just another thing that Brom expected no one to question?

Then there was Zoe herself to consider. From what she had heard Zoe was brave, logical, and clear headed as well as a dangerous opponent and a loyal friend. She was enough of a beauty that she attracted attention and dangerous enough to pose a threat to Durza. She was far from any kind of mortal normal. Then there was her information on the most secret inner workings of the Empire.

As she drew close to the door that led to the entrance cavern, Arya pushed her thoughts away. They were leading her nowhere but round and round in an endless circle. The only way to find the answers she sought was to speak with the girl privately – if she lived – and, if she did not, then she would confront Brom about the matter. It was time for some true answers but for now she had to deal with the present. Squaring her shoulders, schooling her features into a blank mask, the elvish ambassador pushed the door open. She was not sure what she would find on the inside, but she would be damned if she wasn't prepared for anything. Arya was not one to let battles to be sprung on her, but be ready for any fight no matter what kind.

The heavy metallic scent of blood met her first followed by the sight of Eragon, still standing by Saphira with the four horses and then Brom, bloody sword in one hand talking with the tall, dark skinned Ajihad. A far different scene from the one she had left. The twin magician who Brom had being dueling when she left, was lying dead a little ways away from the two men. Orik was there as well as ten of Ajihad's personal guards who were all standing a little ways back looking rather uncomfortable in the strange situation they had found themselves in.

Arya met Eragon's eyes briefly before she gathered herself together and strode forward, speaking in a clear voice as she did so, "Ajihad."

The leader of the Varden turned to face her. A rare smile lighting up his face as his almond eyes swept over her as if not quite believing that it was actually her. In his deep, controlled voice, the man said warmly, "It gladdens my heart to see you again we discovered what had happened we feared the worst for both you and the egg." He stepped forward and gave Arya a quick, tight embrace in a rare show of open affection. The man was not known for displaying his feelings in such a way and the elf wondered slightly at his joy and open relief – had she been missed this much because she was Arya? Or because she was the Queen's daughter and the ambassador?

Questions for another time.

Allowing a small smile, Arya said, "Indeed. It is only because of Brom, Murtagh, Zoe, Eragon and Saphira that I was able to escape the Empire with my life."

Frowning slightly and ever one to get straight to the point, Ajihad asked, "Did you give the Empire any information? Brom has explained to me a little of the adventures surrounding Eragon and Saphira, but he has not told me anything of you yet or the details surrounding your capture and imprisonment."

Arya inwardly sighed; she did not want to deal with this right now. She wanted to sleep in a soft bed and forget for a little while the things she had experienced but, as seemed her lot in life, she had to deal with other things first. "No Ajihad, I did not. However, I would prefer to speak of matters later when my thoughts are not clouded. Brom," here she paused and met the tired eyes of the old storyteller. The man had never looked so haggard to the elf, but there was nothing she could do to help him and she was still rather annoyed with him after the way he had confronted her. "Angela is caring for Zoe and I left Murtgh with her." Brom nodded and sheathed his sword.

Ajihad looked curious at the mention of their two companions. No doubt he had heard enough about 'Murtagh' to guess at who he really was and enough about 'Zoe' to make him deeply curious about whom she really was. But the man said nothing about it at that moment as if he sensed such questions were not only amiss at such a time when Zoe might not live the night and would not be answered in any kind of completion because of exhaustion. The commander, tall and completely in control of himself, turned to Eragon and Saphira he said, "Orik will show you to the Dragon Hold where you can rest as long as you want."

Eragon inclined his head and passed the reins of the horses to a waiting soldier before following Orik out of the cavern. Before leaving he glanced behind and looked at Arya, his gaze troubled and weary. Arya smiled at him, trying to offer some reassurance to the Rider but knowing she could not ease any of his worries that day. They would have to wait to see if their desperate ride was worth it not only for Zoe, but for giving the Varden fair warning of the battle rapidly approaching.

Turning her attention back to Brom and Ajihad she bade them farewell for now. She was eager to escape before she was roped into anything or asked to explain anything more. As she hurried through the passages that led to the city and then to the rooms that would still be kept ready for any elvish guests should they need them, she couldn't stop thinking of not only the past few weeks but those who were not with her.

Glenwing….loyal and gentle Glenwing who had been such a dear friend to her and, even more painfully, Faolin. Her Faolin who she had…NO! She would not think of any of that! She had sworn not to think of that!

With ruthless determination, the elf told her inner self that she would sleep and she would enjoy the soft bed and comfortable rooms that were so much nicer then cold ground or the back of a moving horse. She would think of all that later. For she was not currently fighting for her life like Zoe or about to be thrust into the spotlight like Eragon and Saphira.

But his name still haunted the shadows of her mind and filled her with cold sadness no matter how hard she tried to avoid thinking about it…


	21. Discovery

_I knew I was dreaming._

_What else could this be? _

_ It was one of those disjointed memories, frozen moments, which did not fit in with the rest of my ordinary, modern life. It was one of those frozen snap shots that made me feel as if I was standing on the edge of a cliff of almost understanding – almost knowing what the hell was going on, but not quite because the answer remained just out of reach. _

_ I was standing in the throne room that I had seen; only this time I was standing in front of one of the small thrones on the raised dais. The hall was even larger than I had thought. There was no sound and everything seemed frozen as if someone had hit the pause button. The room was crowded with people wearing formal robes and dresses of many colors, their hair, necks and wrists adorned with sparkling jewels. Everyone was looking up at us, bright smiles on their faces and the air seemed to shimmer with laughter and celebration. _

_It was a sight to remember. _

_My eyes scanned the crows, trying to memorize every detail, as I realized that I was one of the main attractions. I glanced down and realized that I, too, was wearing a gown. It was dark blue with silver embroidery and probably one of the most beautiful things I had ever worn. My heart skipped a beat as I caught sight of myself in one of the tall windows. A silver circlet was interwoven in my hair I looked like royalty. Every single aspect of my reflection was flawless from my elegantly done hair to the dress that fell in soft folds around me and somehow made me look both older and more attractive than I ever did normally. _

_I felt so bloody self-conscious though! Even as I stood there, tall and seemingly relaxed, I felt the weight of all those eyes. But it felt right. As if this was a normal thing – something I was used to and learned to bear long ago. _

_I glanced to my left and saw Eomund, also dressed in silvery finery, looking forward, his face set in a noble looking frown. He too looked a little uncomfortable as if he, like me, disliked being the center of the room. A fine silver circlet rested atop his dark head, crowning him as if he was a Prince. His serene and kind grey eyes hid any emotion he might be feeling at that moment. I hoped I looked as composed as he did. _

_To my right, standing in front of the two largest thrones were two regal people. The sight of them made something stir within me, a distant memory of shared laughter and love that sent a shooting pain through my heart. It was a kind of grief and loss that confused me even more for it was far deeper than any I had ever felt before. It was as if I had lost these people long ago and the pain was still sharp and fresh – all too willing to be remembered and send a dagger through me. _

_The man, the King, was golden haired and his blue eyes danced with laughter and a wise kind of kindness. He was tall and his sole presence seemed to emanate an aura of royalty and authority. His rich formal robes were a deep wine color and a circlet of gold only added to the feeling that this was a King. A long sword was sheathed at his side and one of his calloused hands rested on the simple, wire wrapped hilt. A warrior King? His blue eyes were infinite, like an ever expanding clear blue sky – deep, so vast, that I felt as I could fall into them. In those eyes I felt safe, secure as if he gave me an anchor on which I could be grounded. _

_But my eyes moved onto the other figure who was, without doubt, his Queen. She was black haired and her face was so delicate, so defined, that she had to be one of the fairest people I had ever seen. Her grey-blue eyes reminded me of Eomund's and, I suppose, my own. There was an air of power about her that was more than just her beauty or the authority she seemed to command in the way she stood and looked out at the crowd. It was a power that flickered in her eyes and seemed to shine through her like a bright light that could never be dimmed. _

_I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. I did not know what it was, but deep in the eyes of the Queen, gleamed a touch of familiarity, of love that I knew and would have done anything to feel again. I knew, as clearly as I knew my name, that I had seen this woman and this man many times before. I remembered those eyes. It seemed strange, almost like I could not trust it, but also real and comforting, but it felt like I was coming back – returning to a home that I had never really forgotten. _

_My eyes moved on to the last two throne as if I was searching for some sort of reassurance that I was only dreaming. Only dreaming! But no such reassurance came for, in front of them stood two golden haired, blue eyed people also dressed in rich finery. One of them was a boy, a few years older than me, who seemed to glow with a brilliant kind of fire, of strength that was tempered by nobility. His blue eyes were unreadable, perfectly composed, but also noble and gentle. The golden circlet looked right on his head, completely natural and not as if someone had stuck it there like mine felt. _

_ Beside him was a young woman, her eyes glittering with a slight glint of mirth and a small smile dancing on her lips. Her long platinum hair had been intricately braced and her dress was a pure pearl color with intricate silver embroidery that made it look like it had been frosted with snow. She looked as if she found love and laughter wherever she went. She was a golden princess from a fairy tale whose gentle smiles and hands were as at home at an embroidery hoop as they were when aiding the poor or infirm. So beautiful in her golden glow that any man might have lost his head to her in a single hear beat._

_The sight of them made my heart twinge painfully and distant memories of pranks, of wild adventures and fun filled me with sadness as if I had lost something that I held dear and had guarded with my life only to fail when it mattered most, flickered through my mind. Everything about those five people were so familiar, and yet so new. I did not remember their faces, did not remember their voices, but I remembered their presence. I wanted to cry. I wanted to shout my questions and get an answer, but I could not move or speak…_

_The dream faded and I was sent into another one. A wide open prairie of gently waving golden grass above whichc a glittering blue sky stretched out endlessly. I was mounted on a white horse with no saddle or bridle and my bow was in my right hand. The warmth of the horse between my legs and smooth wood of my weapon was familiar – deeply comforting to my troubled thoughts. I had been happy here, carefree and contented with where I was and who I was. _

_From beside me a voice said, "What do you think Zoe?"_

_I turned and saw the golden haired boy who was also mounted. His blue eyes shone with laughter and he raised one hand pointing into the distance, "Last one to the rocks loses!" _

_And we were gone, racing our fleet horses across the grass and laughing away our cares and worries to the breeze…_

_The scene shimmered and was replaced by the inside of a cave; a woman was standing in front of me. Her face was ageless, full of wisdom and kindness but also a deep, ancient kind of power that overwhelmed me in its intensity._

_ One of her hands was on my shoulder; in a gentle voice she spoke, "Good luck Zoe. You will come back when the time is right and your memories will as well. Hold true to yourself daughter of Angard…" _

_Blackness seized me and sent me spinning into a familiar room, my old bedroom from boarding school. My mother was with me and I realized it was the first day of junior high when everyone was dropped off for the school term. It was my first year at Lawrencville and I was feeling like everything I had ever known was slipping away. She was dressed as she always did – fashionably and perfectly. Not a single strand of her dyed hair was out of place and her Hermes scarf was perfectly arranged. Her black handbag casually resting on one arm as she turned to walk out the door as if relieved to finally be able to go live her social, high-profile life without worrying about her daughter. Safe and sound off at an expensive, popular boarding school. _

_She paused at the door, and looked back, her steely grey ones meeting my own. In her twangy New York accent she said, "Enjoy while you have the chance…" _

_The dream broke and I was drifting, vaguely aware of flying, of words spoken outside my mental barricades and the overwhelming sense of urgency that made me restless within my trance. But this was all vague, far away and I could not have told you where I was or what my purpose was. These dreams were brief things, pulling me away from the darkness for a little while and, then, dropping me back into it. _

_ I knew not how long I was cut loose of all the things around me before I heard a voice gently calling my name, it started off as a gentle murmur and then gained volume and intensity. Zoe. It echoed through my mind. Zoe. It seemed to be asking me to follow it like a tantalizing promise of freeing myself from this trance. Summoning what remained of my determination and strength I followed the voice's call. It led me through memories, feelings and thoughts as if I was traversing a twisting path and it was my map, my light and my reason to go on. Zoe. It called again when I stumbled or my strength flagged. Zoe. _

_I was waking. I was slowly becoming aware of my body and the world. _

_Or at least, my consciousness woke from my dream state._

I was standing in a warm, sun lit study wearing a light gold and white dress. When I looked down a myself I realized I was slightly transparent. I wasn't really here, but, rather, my mind or soul or…you get the idea. My body, battered and dying, was still in Alagaesia but my mind had escaped it for a little while.

It was a welcome escape.

I examined the quiet, comfortably furnished room. Glass fronted bookcases lined the overly tall walls and I longed to settle down in one of the comfortable looking chairs and read to my heart's content. Tall windows overlooked an open expanse of green country that rose up into towering mountains. A claw footed desk, stacked high with papers and half read books was in the center of the room. Sitting at the desk, brow furrowed in concentration, one hand tapping the desk was...Eomund.

He was gazing at a piece of paper looking as if it was some sort of difficult math problem. He looked less noble, less untouchable there instead of the grand throne room like the last time I had met him. But there was still an air of power about him and his elegant robes were soft blue embroidered with patterns of leaves, elegant and beautifully tailored. The silver circlet was abandoned on a stack of books and scrolls, but he did not need it to seem regal and powerful. His grey eyes were hard at first sight, impenetrable and guarded by an iced wall that held back whatever he might be feeling.

Clearing my throat and stepping forward slightly I said, "Eomund?"

To my amusement he leapt straight up in surprise, the paper he was holding went flying and Eomund's hand went to the small letter opener that was a pitiful excuse for a weapon. His eyes found mine and widened in surprise. The hard crystal barrier suddenly vanishing in his shock and he looked younger suddenly, his royal façade vanishing at the sight of me. It was most gratifying to see his jaw drop and form a small 'o' before he snapped it shut.

I could not help it - I laughed. I laughed the first true laugh since before Gil'ead and Durza put a damper on any joy I might experience.

For a long moment we just stared at each other. His eyes were edged with sorrow and pain, but there was also joy and relief as if the sight of me freed him of the heaviest burden. He didn't seem quite able to believe that it was me, standing right in front of him, and smiling as if I knew exactly who he was and who I was. A silence had fallen over the large office and I would have liked to say so many things and, deep down, an instinct was telling me to do something – anything.

Suddenly a place inside of me that I hadn't even known about felt complete as if the sight of this man was a missing piece that I had lived for so long without that I had forgotten about it. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes and they were starting to blur my vision, and nothing I could do could stop them from beginning to streak down my cheeks.

Eomund's eyes narrowed in worry and alarm, moving forward from behind his desk and he reached me only to have me, acting on some strange impulse, throw my arms around him. My tears were already rolling down my cheeks and his strong, warm arms were so comforting, so right. I felt at home in his embrace. I felt as if I had just fallen back into the warmth of familiarity even though I did not know this person. I pressed my face against his formal robes and he held me tightly.

I drew back a little and looked up into his silvery gaze. He was crying to, I realized suddenly, and he was trembling with emotion. This strong, noble young man was just as affected as I was by this meeting. Eomund rested one hand on the side of my cheek and whispered, "Zoe…oh Zoe." He said it as if he needed to say it a thousand times to actually believe the truth that it was me – ordinary little me – standing before him. An instinct made me gently brush away his tears with my thumb.

I struggled to steady myself, to slow the sobs and try to answer the thousands of questions. Everything about this room was strange, but also familiar for, somewhere, floating on the edges of my memory, were the other times I had sat here and looked out of those windows, wishing I was just another person in the crowd or longing for days when life was simple. Other times...times where I knew exactly who I was, what I needed to do and who to trust.

"I do not know anything about this," I whispered as I searched for an answer in his eyes. "I don't remember you. You know me, but I do not know you."

"I know," he whispered, "that I am a stranger to you." He said it as if the words hurt him worse than any physical injury ever had. His voice soft, edged with sadness and grief that I wished I understood. "But I am your younger brother."

It was lucky that Eomund was holding me. It was lucky that he was because the words came as such a shock that I doubt I could have stood on my own. My brother. I had a brother. This was my brother. I suppose I could see it even as my heart had always known it. We had the same eyes, the same hair and the same narrow build. But still…this was my brother. I didn't remember having a brother – someone to tease, care for, laugh with, play pranks with or do anything of things that siblings do.

"Brother?" I whispered.

"Yes," he said and his eyes gleamed with pain, "sister." He took my hand and drew me to the elegant couch, pushing me down so that we both sat together. His arm wrapped around my shoulder and the other gripping my hand tightly as if he could never imagine letting go. "I had hoped that you would just remember on your own. It's not fair, any of it."

"Can you explain?" I asked. My voice was barely audible, but steadier than I had imagined it would be.

"You look like mother," said Eomund as he glanced away for a moment. "Not a day older than when you left. I believed you were dead. Dead and gone."

I gently rested a hand on his cheek and asked again, "Can you explain? Please?"

For a long moment he didn't seem able to speak and then he nodded as he drew himself back together. "I will start at the beginning, but I know little sister. Some answers you shall have to find on your own. You see…well you of this world. My world. This one." I restrained myself from speaking, for I could see the pain in Eomund's eyes and I did not want to make it any more difficult for him. "The life you think you lived on Earth isn't true. You belong here and always have. You must forget that world, what happened there it's not who you are or where you belong. Not Alagaesia or Earth. This world."

I buried my face in his shoulder and for a moment we just sat there, his arms around me, as I tried to come to terms with his words. My voice muffled by the soft fabric, I whispered, "Please explain Eomund."

Slowly, so I caught every heavy word he spoke, Eomund said into my hair, "About year ago, you were sent through a crack or portal between this world and Earth. There are a few portals like this, no one knows why or how they came into existence and they connect worlds with each other. The portal that you used was a gateway to Earth. There are powers that govern the gateways. They took your memories, substituted others and gave you a life on Earth. They created an entire life for you, all the cares, joys, experiences and knowledge that a girl from Earth would have. They even changed your appearance a little so you could pass off as those two people's child.

"No one knew what happened to you for six months until Lucia, our younger sister, had a dream. In the dream she met a woman; I suppose she was some sort of goddess, one of the powers who govern the gateways and choose you as their fighter. It was she who told Lucia what had happened to you. She explained that you would eventually return but your skill was needed elsewhere." Eomund took a brief pause and then continued as if he was delivering a report and not telling his older sister just who she was and all the things she had to remember.

"It has been…difficult for all of us not having you." Eomund let out a shuddering breath and continued as if desperate to have it all over with, "Then the goddess returned. She came to me in a dream and explained that you were now in a world called Alagaesia and of the challenges you faced. It was she who showed me how to contact you when you were unconscious after Gil'ead and the information I was to pass onto you."

I drew my face out of his robes and managed to nod my head. Suddenly, at that moment, everything seemed to click into place. True, I had spent time as Zoe of Earth – it had been my only identity and this came as a great shock to find out that that was not true. But that Zoe seemed so far away now. I would never return to Earth or boarding school or the mother that was not really my mother. I was more than that girl. I would always remain Zoe, but I no longer needed her and her life to hide behind. I was ready to find out who I was – truly was – and, most important, I had found a brother in Eomund. I had found that I had a father, a mother, a sister and brothers when I thought I had none.

"Who are they?" I asked and Eomund understood as if he could read my mind with his farseeing grey eyes. "You are younger than me, right?"

"Pehtred is the eldest, and he is noble and all that one would want in a High King. Then you," he smiled a little, "then me and then Lucia who is beautiful and delicate." Eomund's smile broadened and he was looking at me desperately as if hoping I would remember now.

But I didn't. While his words made me smile despite everything, they were still names of people I didn't remember ever knowing. I wished that I did remember being a part of it – part of the stories and the memories that I knew were somewhere in my mind, but out of reach still.

With a small, sad sigh, Eomund continued heavily and any smile or joy left us both quickly. "Our mother has been dead for the last six years and our father for three." The memory of the golden haired, blue eyed girl and the tall, golden haired warrior from my dreams flashed across my mind. So those were my family – all of us – gathered like royalty.

"Who are we?" I asked. "What are we?"

Eomund smiled slightly, "Our brother is the High King of our world just as those before him have been the High King. Since being sent to Alagaesia you have begun to look more like you did when you lived here." He brushed a strand of my dark hair away from my face, "You look my sister now. They had to make you as inconspicuous as possible so you would fit in on Earth but now…now you are finding the strength that all those of our House have."

I had not had a chance to really look in a mirror recently. But, if I lived to do so, I would be interested to see the changes my brother spoke of. I would be more than interested…I was desperate to see them.

"As for your other family," Eomund paused as if it hurt him to ever think of me having another family. "From what the goddess told me they don't even remember having a daughter. You no longer exist in that world; it is as if you were never there. They do not remember you and so they cannot miss you – no one there can."

I nodded. What more could I do? On one hand it made sense, I had assumed I was growing because of the challenges I had faced traveling with Eragon, but I was actually discovering the person I had been before Earth. Before my memories were blocked and replaced by false ones; the person who was confident, who could focus in dangerous situations and was not intimidated by those with power or status. It also explained why I could withstand the poison like I have; I was not an ordinary human. It explained everything that had mystified me. My visions were flashes of true memories and my skills had been earned when I still lived here.

Yet…well there was my old family. Hard to get along with they were, but they had loved me in their own way and I them. To lose them, to be forgotten by them because some power slipped me into their life and then yanked me out was cruel. It hurt and I could not just suddenly forget them like they had been forced to forget me. I would always remember them and that was as it should be. I had long ago said farewell to them and, now, I had to fill that empty space with those who really were my family – Pehtred, Eomund and Lucia.

I felt a wave of guilt and shame as I remembered the dark haired Queen from the dream. I had not recognized my own mother and I felt as if I had betrayed her by loving someone else instead. Because I hadn't known any better, and yet that is what the young woman had been to me, and I had not known that there was someone else.

I suddenly felt very tired. I was so glad for the warmth of Eomund's embrace and the soft couch we sat on together. My brother and I…it was strange and wondrous all at once. "What will happen now Eomund? I'm not really here."

_I still might die, brother. I still might never get to remember all the things I know about you and this world that is my home. I might never ever have the chance._

Eomund's eyes hardened with determination. "You will return. I know you will." His words gave me a little confidence, but we were both clutching at straws – both of us desperate to try and find some hope that I would get the chance to remember and have the home coming that Eomund clearly dreamed of.

Desperate to change the subject, I asked gently, "Can you tell me more about myself? All the things you remember?"

Eomund's eyes glittered in the warm sunny light that streamed from the windows. Somehow I knew that my question was some sort of comfort to him. "Of course," he said with a wide smile, "Pethred and Lucia will be furious that I got to speak with you and they didn't."

The air felt lighter, as if we were slowly settling back into our old relationship. It would take time, I knew that, but I already felt comfortable and confident in Eomund's presence, part of me already accepting him back into the place he had once occupied. I laughed a little at his words and tried to imagine the golden haired prince glaring at Eomund or the pale gold princess with her hands on her hips in anger.

"You were always there for me," said Eomund with a faint smile. "Always there for all of us and you have always been the voices of reason. We've all missed you. Everyone who knew you has missed you these past months…"

I smiled and wished I remembered this. I wished I remembered the girl who he spoke of and could just be her instantly again. A sudden question occurred to me and I voiced it without thinking, "Eomund. Why was I chosen by these powers? Why did they need someone at all? What is the purpose of this?"

Eomund shrugged and any sign of happiness vanished from his face. "They said that your abilities were what they needed for this quest. They sent you to Earth for you to learn of Eragon and Saphira's journey and for you to learn certain skills. Apparently the worlds are connected by a thin link, a kind of curtain that separates them, but also allows for the transfer of ideas, stories and inventions. There are Gateways that people can use to travel between the worlds but they are hard to use and even harder to find. These doorways are being threatened by Galbatorix and his magic. He discovered them and wants to use them to expand his Empire and discover new technologies that he could use against his enemies. The powers sent you to help stop him before he can do something that would destroy the delicate balance between the worlds. If this balance is disrupted then Alagaesia and any other world connected to it by a gateway will fall."

So I did have a purpose. A rather big, intimidating purpose that made part of me cower and part of me feel lighter, stronger and more determined than ever because now I knew. A purpose, however difficult or challenging is a thousand times better than indecision.

I smiled a little to try and reassure my brother though, I am sure, he saw through it. "Thank you Eomund." I meant those words with all the sincerity, all the love I had within myself.

He nodded and smiled weakly, "I hope you haven't gotten yourself over your head sister dear."

"Me?" I teased lightly, "never! It's you who gets yourself buried in quicksand faster than I can say 'Eomund!'"

Before I could say anything more I felt a light tugging in my mind that grew stronger with every passing moment. I sighed; it seemed my time here was up and I saw that Eomund seemed to know this to, his eyes met mine sadly and he rose, gently pulling me up to.

A desperate wish rose inside of me as I met Eomund's kind, clear eyes. Suddenly so reachable and present in a way that was more comforting than anything else I could have imagined. "You will tell them won't you? Tell them that I will come back. Not to worry too much about me."

Eomund understood, he gave me a smile and nodded. The room around me began to fade, but my eyes were fixed on my brother's face. The grey-blue eyes, just like mine, the black hair and the proud way he held himself. The stubborn loyalty, the nobleness and the tinge of sadness from all that he had seen and endured. My brother. My wonderful younger brother. It was all there and how I wished I did not have to leave again but I had no choice. How I loved him! How I loved him even though I did not remember him.

"I love you Zoe," he whispered into my hair as I felt myself slipping away into the blackness. "Come home…"

* * *

><p>I did not linger in the dark for as long as I had before.<p>

It seemed to be the day of voices. For, after what could have been seconds or hours, I heard another voice calling for me. It was a voice that sounded rather familiar and also impatient. Terribly impatient. It took a great deal of effort but I managed force myself upwards, back into the real world.

With a sigh I forced my eyes open. They were like heavy shutters that, when opened, blinded my shadowed my mind with light. I blinked rapidly a few times to clear the sun spots before I was clearly able to see the face looking down at me. A stern frown on her face, curly hair going every which direction and looking like some sort of crazed person was the last person I expected to see.

Angela the Herbalist.

Her voice irritated and her eyes flashing she snapped, "Really girl! Why do you do this yourself? I've spent the last six hours trying to bring you back from death's door! A thank you won't cover it!"

I would have liked to say something, but I couldn't summon the energy or the words. My mouth was paper dry mouth. My head hurt terribly and my body ached as if I had just recovered from a bad bout of flu.

The Herbalist held a glass of water to my dry lips and I drank thirstily. Water had never been this refreshing. When I had drunk my fill, the Herbalist turned her gaze to mine, her voice softening a little she said, "You need to rest for a little longer Zoe. When you wake again you will be ready to leave." I sighed tiredly, already slipping back into sleep. Before I could completely loose myself to the darkness Angela said, "I hope that Eomund is well."

My eyes shot open, had I had more energy I would have leapt up, but all I could was gasp out, "You know Eomund? You knew all along didn't you?"

Oh why hadn't I seen it! The Herbalist had known all along! What did she know of me? Who was she really?

Putting a hand on my shoulder, the Herbalist said sternly, "Calm yourself Zoe. I do know of your history, but I cannot speak of it. I swore an oath not to tell you anything, you have to discover it on your own. The memories will come back faster now, I think, and soon you will know all that you did before."

I met her gaze, "Just who are you Angela?" My voice was soft but demanding in its softness. It was time for Angela to admit a little of her secrets. But I was weak and ill and sleep was tugging at my mind. I struggled against it as I met the Herbalist's gaze.

Angela just smiled crookedly but her eyes…her eyes spoke of ageless wisdom and sadness. Never had I seen such a look and it made me feel like a young child who had seen little and done even less. What was I in her eyes? A little thing briefly there and then gone in the vast workings of this world?

In a very soft voice, as if she was imparting a great secret to me she said, "I am a watcher Zoe. I have been watching things for a long time. Now go to sleep."

I could not argue with her command. It was given with such conviction and I was too weak from the poison to argue. I was slipping into a deep, restful sleep that my body so craved and I could no longer fight it just to ask questions.

But I still remembered Eomund's words: _I love you. Come home. _

_I shall. Oh I shall! _


	22. Chapter 22

_**Yay! Another chapter for you guys! This is based quite a bit from the book and I know I promised Zoe would be back soon but not till next chapter - which will be up soon! This is all Eragon but next one will be with Zoe and with quite a bit of Murtagh to...As always a big, big thank you to everyone and keep writing those reviews! **_

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><p>Eragon woke with a groan, his body aching and his mind feeling fuzzy. Opening his eyes Eragon saw the blue membrane of one of Saphira's wings like the roof of a tent. <em>Good afternoon little one. <em>

_Is it really that late? _

_Yes. Brom contacted me a little while ago and told me where you could go for bathe and change of clothes. Then he wants you to come and speak with hi, Arya and Ajihad. _

_Ah, have you heard anything about Zoe?What of Murtagh?_

_Apparently she is still asleep but is in no danger. The healers were optimistic she would awake tomorrow. Murtagh has been shown to his own rooms and is still resting. _

_Then we did succeed. I can't believe it. All that travel and we've reached our destination. _

_Yes, little one. We did. _Saphira hummed happily and the two sat in comfortable silence. They were both enjoying the chance at just sitting still and forgetting their worries for a time. After a few minutes of quite reflection, Eragon pushed himself up and crawled out from under Saphira's wing. Stretching his stiff muscles, the Rider examined his surroundings as he remembered the previous night.

Orik had led him and Saphira down a long, smoothed wall tunnel for what had felt like a complete age. It had taken them nearly an hour to traverse the corridor. At last they had come to two colossal black doors, accented by shimmering silver lines that depicted a seven-pointed crown that spanned both sides of the door.

When Orik had pushed them open Eragon and Saphira had found themselves inside a massive volcanic crater. Its walls narrowed to a small ragged opening so high above that Eragon could not judge the distance. Through it he had been able to see a few stars glimmering high above.  
>The crater's far side, hazy blue in the distance, looked nearly ten miles away. Giant icicles hundreds of feet thick and thousands of feet long hung leagues above them like glistening daggers. Dark mats of moss and lichen covered the walls. There had been a wide cobblestone path that had extended from the doors' threshold. The path led straight to the centre of the crater, where it ended at the base of a snowy white mountain that glittered like an uncut gem. The city was so brilliant that it lit up the ground around it. It was like a beacon for a ship coming in from the sea, the end of a long journey that had pushed Eragon and Saphira to their utmost limits. It was also the starting point of a new journey.<p>

Orik had led them quickly to the entrance of the city, two massive gates were closed in front of them but Orik had made no move to lead them inside. The dwarf had explained of the Dragon Hold that was at the top of the city mountain and how to get there. By that point Eragon was too tired to pay much attention and had nearly been unable to corrdinate himself enough to mountSaphira. The flight up to the Hold was a distant memory of flying and he had just managed to slip off his dragon's back before falling into a deep sleep. His tired mind and body all to eager for the first true rest they had for weeks.

Now however, he was able to examine the cave with clear, rested eyes. The floor of the dragon hold was the great star sapphire, Isidar Mithrim. The legendary star sapphire that was one the dwarves greatest treasures and a mark of their love for jems as well as their craftmanship. Beneath it was nothing but Tromjheim's great central chamber. The round rootless room that surrounded the gem was about sixty feet high and sixty feet across. The walls were lined with caves and there were rungs so that people could reach the higher levels. An enormous archway led out of the dragon hold and towards a staircase that led downwards, not, that Eragon could imagine many people using them if the Hold was only used by dragon's and their Riders. The entire mountain was a monument to the single minded determination of the dwarves. A feat that, Eragon was sure could be managed by few other cities.

Truning his attention to the inside of Saphira's cave, Eragon examined it. The cave was dark brown and though it was roughly chiseled it felt cozy, natural and safe. Near the far wall was a thick cushion for Saphira to curl up on. Beside it was a bed built into the side of the wall, the bed that Eragon had not bothered with the previous night. The cave was lit by a single red lantern equipped with a shutter so its glow could be muted.

Saphira touched his thoughts; _You should hurry little one, Brom sounded worried. _

_Will you fly me down?_ Eragon did not relish walking all the way to the gates. His body was still sore from travel and he still felt the lingering effects of exhaustion and stress.

_Of course! _was her quick and eager response.

Making sure that his bow was fastened across his back and Zar'oc belted at his waist Eragon swiftly mounted Saphira; he did not bother to fasten the straps around his legs for the flight was short and Eragon had grown accustomed to flying on Saphira. With a mighty push Saphira launched herself over top of the red jewel and into the air.

The arial view of city mountain gave Eragon a unique view of the highly polished marble city with its elaborate carvings, golden griffins, pillars, sculptures and the countless round windows that looked like the windows into another world. Sunlight filtered through the hole at the top of the mountain and made the white marble glow.  
>Wondering what his dragon thought of the mountain city, Eragon asked her, <em>What do you think of it?<em>

Saphira thought for a moment, _It is magnificent I suppose but I would prefer the open desert or even the Spine. Dragons are not meant for cities._

_No_, agreed Eragon.

Saphira descended quickly and when they reached the ground Orik was waiting for them. The stout dwarf was polishing is axe but rose quickly when he saw them. It suddenly occurred to Eragon that he had yet to see many of the Varden or any more dwarves. That would most likely change soon. It was an intimidating thought.

"Argetlam," greeted the dwarf.

Recognizing the elvish word for the Riders, Eragon greeted the dwarf before saying, "Are you to assist me today?"

The dwarf nodded and said, "Follow me Rider Eragon, Saphira."

With one hand on Saphira's side Eragon followed Orik through the main entrance to the city. A heavy gate rumbled open before them as hidden chains slowly raised it revealing a four-story high passageway that extended straight towards the center of Tronjheim. The top three levels were pierced by rows of archways that revealed grey tunnels curing off into the distance.  
>It was then that Eragon saw the people. They lined the streets, watching him and Saphira along with dwarves. The humans were hard, tough people whose eyes stared at him and Saphira with fierce curiosity. Children stayed close to their mothers and none went without weapons. They were proud but also...weary. They reminded Eragon of people who were backed into a corner and would not hesitate to fight to the death to get out.<p>

Feeling self conscious and embarrassed Eragon said, _What should I do?_

_Something! Wave or smile but do something!_ snapped the dragon as she raised her massive head.

Steeling his nerves Eragon raised a hand and have a half heated wave, wishing all time, that he had Brom, Zoe or Murtagh with him. Why had Brom sent him into this so? No preparation or warning just a simple command to meet Orik. The old storyteller had known this would happen and yet he had not bothered to warn Eragon of it. From now one Eragon would not follow his orders so blindly.

At first nothing happened but then someone cheered and it spread like wildfire. Eragon breathed a sigh of relief, as did Orik noticed the Rider. People began to roar and, while they gave Saphira plenty of space, they followed close behind. Many pointed at Saphira, whispering behind raised hands to each other.

The dwarves, Eragon noticed greatly outnumbered humans and many of them walked away with stony faces. Old grudges reawakened at the sight of a Rider and his dragon. These were the sort of challenges that he, as a Rider, was going to face; uniting a people and forming new alliances with old enemies. It was a daunting prospect especially if it was complicated by the other dwarves clans who would be less than eager to accept him.

At last they left the cheering crowd behind and found themselves in a wide, tall corridor where a few soldiers and dwarves hurried around them, barely glancing at Eragon or Saphira. Orik led them until they reached a corridor with a wide balcony at the end that overlooked the lower levels of the city. It was quieter here and the corridors were deserted.

Orik turned and gave Eragon a gruff smile, "Saphira, if you return to the Dragon Hold you will find that fresh meat has been delivered. The tunnels I will take Eragon through are too small for you to fit comfortably."

Broadcasting her thoughts Saphira said_, I will see you later._

_Yes, be careful. I fear that the dwarves are less than pleased to see us._

_No, we will have to be careful lest we give them more fuel for their fire. Watch yourself little one. You have a terrible habit of getting into trouble when I'm not around._ With that she launched herself off the balcony and over the city mountain. Her scales sparkling like jewels in the sunlight and she seemed even more magnificent then usual.

Orik let out a long breath of air, "Ah boy, you have been blessed indeed. That is gift that rivals the greatest of our treasures." Shaking his head he then clapped his hands and said, "I neglect my duties. Come, let us find you some food." The dwarf turned away and began to walk towards one of the tunnels but Eragon did not follow right away. He watched as the sapphire blue dragon flew upwards, her scales catching the light. Orik was right, it was the greatest gift but also one of the heaviest burdens. H had only to be reminded of the Empire's soldiers or the stony faced dwarves to know that being a Rider was not all glory or fame.

Hurrying after the disappearing dwarf, Eragon followed the dwarf back into Tronjheim and through a labyrinth of corridors until they came to a long room filled with rows of stone tables only high enough for dwarves. Fires blazed on soapstone ovens behind a long counter. The room was warm and there was a friendly, relaxed atmosphere to this room that contrasted sharply with the opulence and regal intimidating aspect of Tronjeihm.

Orik spoke words in an unfamiliar language to one stout, ruddy faced dwarf, who promptly handed them stone platters piled with steaming mushrooms and fish. Then Orik took Eragon up several flights of stairs and into a small alcove carved out of Tronjheim's outer wall, where they sat cross-legged. Eragon promptly began to eat, wordlessly filling his grumbling stomach with the delicious food. After days of cold meals you could have fed him nearly anything and Eragon would have eaten it.

When he had finished his meal, Eragon asked Orik, "I was told that Tronjheim has a magnificent library. Do you think you could show it me one day?" Zoe had spoken of the library and it had intrigued Eragon. A room filled with so many books it would take over a lifetime to read them all...it seemed rather inconceivable.

Orik chuckled and drew a pipe from an inner pocket. "I would enjoy showing you it. Many of the books contained there cannot be found in the Empire because of Galbatorix. It is one of the marvels of Tronjheim."

Thinking of the man Brom had killed the previous day, Eragon said, "What can you tell me of the Twins?"

Orik grumbled darkly, "They came to Varden offering their magic skills. The Varden needed magicians and so they were accepted. I suppose you wouldn't have heard but only one of them was killed yesterday. The one that Brom confronted, the other must have been warned by his brother and escaped using the tunnels beneath the mountain. Ajihad decided to risk losing men by following him."

Eragon raised an eyebrow, "He escaped?" What would the implications of that be? A man, eager for revenge and in contact with the Durza and Galbatorix was a dangerous enemy to anyone.

"Aye," said Orik angrily, "It was an embarrassment for all and Arya was furious as was Brom and Ajihad. That was a sight I hope never to see again; an angry elf." Rising from his chair the dwarf said, "Now come, you must want a change of clothes and then you are expected by Ajihad. Best not to keep them waiting they can tell you more."

The two left behind the kitchen and Orik led Eragon through more twisting, white marble passageways. A question occurred to Eragon, "Orik."

"Yes?"

"Have you lived here all your life? Why do you serve the Varden?"

Orik chuckled slightly, "I am Hrothgar's nephew and his heir. My parents died of the pox and Hrothgar took me in. I serve the Varden because Hrothgar wished to strengthen connections between the dwarf clans and the Varden. I act both for mine King and Ajihad."

"Ah," said Eragon as he processed this information. It may be useful later on, especially when he met the powerful and crafty dwarven King. The tunnels became narrower and darker as they continued, slowly making there way down. Eragon reviewed what he did know of the city, it was mostly uninhabited but Brom had explained that it was meant to house the entire dwarves nation in times of trouble - the Fall of the Riders being one such time.

"How many Varden are here?"

"Less than two thousand. There are more in Surda under King Orrin's protection. Don't worry boy, when the time comes to fight there are more than enough capable dwarves already here. Anyone who can fight will. The elves have also promised their support when the time to challenge the Empire comes."

Eragon filed away that bit of information. It did not reduce the worry that had formed within him after seeing the small number of Varden. After seeing the might of the Empire's army it would take more than two thousand to win the coming battles no matter how strong he or Saphira became. The elves, if what he had seen of Arya's skill was commen amoung all elves, would be worthy allies but again the Varden was too small to pose any kind of serious threat to the might of the Empire.

The tunnels became increasingly smaller, until Eragon was forced to stoop to avoid the ceiling - all the laterns that lit the tunnel were red. "So the light doesn't blind you when you leave or enter a dark cavern," exaplained Orik when Eragon asked.

It intrigued Eragon to see the way the dwarves had built the city and their obvious fondness for the dark, twisting tunnels. At last they entered a bare room with a small door on the far side. Orik pointed, "The pools are through there, along with brushes and soap. Leave you clothes here and I will have new ones waiting for you."  
>Eragon thanked him and the dwarf left.<p>

Quickly undressing, Eragon opened the door and stepped into a pitch black room. He inched forward until his foot touched warm water, and then eased himself into the pool. Eragon wasted no time and after ensuring that all the blood, sweat and grime was washed away he left the pools and made his way back to the lighted room. A clean set of clothes was waiting for him. They were made of soft but durable cloth and fitted him well. Anything was better then the clothes he had been wearing but still, these were finer than anything he had worn before.

When he had dressed, Eragon left the room and found Orik, smoking his pipe, waiting for him. The dwarf led him back through the levels until they reached the long, white marble corridor where they had left Saphira. Orik gestured towards the balcony, "Ask Saphira to meet us here and then I will take you to Ajihad's study."  
>Nodding, Eragon reached for Saphira. She was happily licking her claws clean after polishing off a large hunk of meat. <em>Saphira?<em>

_Yes little one?_

_Will you meet Orik and me at the same place? It is time to meet Ajihad._

_I will be there soon. _

Sure enough the dragon landed less then two minutes later. Orik greeted her and then hurriedly lead them through more corridors until they reached a circular room, perhaps a thousand feet across that reached put to the top of the city mountain. The walls were lined with arches and the floor was made of polished carnelian upon which was etched a hammer girdled by twelve silver pentacles. The mark, Eragon remembered, of King Hrothgar's clan – the same clan that it seemed Orik belonged to. For his dwarven guide's helmet was emblazoned with the same hammer and pentacles.

The room was a nexus for four hallways. Including the one they had just exited that divided Tronjheim into quarters. Orik did not pause just lead them to one of the corridors. They followed it for several hundred feet, and then entered a small corridor. After a few sharp turns, they came to a massive cedar door, stained black with age. Two guards were stationed on other side but they did not register their arrival but rather, remained as immobile as statues.

Saphira blew gently on Eragon, _Be ready little one. We are about to enter the game of politics and it is just as dangerous as any battle. Keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself. Claws and swords of no more use here._

_Yes._ Making sure his mental shields were in securely in place Eragon watched as Orik knocked three times on the wood door. The door swung open and Orik gestured them inside, steeling himself Eragon followed the dwarf inside with Saphira close behind.

The study was high ceilinged and circular in shape. Tall bookshelves lined the walls and floor to ceiling windows offered a view of the city below. A large desk stacked high with papers faced the door; the chair behind it was occupied by Ajihad. Two of the three chairs in front of the desk were occupied with Arya on the far right and Brom on the far left. Orik bowed to the three before exiting, closing the door behind him.

Rising from his chair, Brom gave Eragon a small smile. He looked terrible, his hair still matted with blood and the dark circles under his eyes no less pronoced. Eragon wondered if he had slept at all. "Eragon, Saphira" there was a note of relief in his voice. "We've been waiting for you."

"Good afternoon Rider Eragon, Saphira. I hope you had enough rest." Ajihad's voice was rich and his eye's never strayed from Eragon's face.

Remembering the etiquette that Brom had drilled him in, Eragon bowed his head and said smoothly, "We did. Thank you."

"Sit Eragon," said Arya. It may have been Eragon's imagination but he thought the elf looked tense and unsettled. Her hands seemed to be gripping the arm rests of her chair unnaturally tight and her forest green eyes never left his face.

Wondering what was going on, Eragon took the offered chair and Saphira settled behind him. His face carefully empty of thought or emotion the young Rider waited and watched. He would not make the first move; no he would let someone else do it.


	23. Many Meetings

Murtagh groaned as he pushed himself upright.

He was sitting in a comfortable bed in a darkened room. The same room that Arya had brought him to early that morning; the elf had woken him from his slumber in the chair and brought him to her own suite of rooms. Murtagh doubted the elf princess had slept more than a few hours but he was too tired to ask.

The only clear thing he remembered was Arya making him promise to stay in the rooms until she returned with Brom. He knew why. A son of Morzan would not be welcomed anywhere no matter how much he proved his good intentions. Better to stay locked in his rooms then venture out where others would see him and, knowing his luck, want to kill him.

Shaking his head to try and clear his dark thoughts, Murtagh examined the room with methodical care It was high ceilinged and the heavy dark green curtains were drawn across the windows that must overlook the city. Tall book cases lined the walls and there was an oval table in one corner around which four chairs were arranged. An open door showed the sitting room and another door to the left of the bed must lead into a bathroom. From what he could see from his place on the bed there were no obvious spy holes but he would have to do a more thorough examination once his head was clearer. On a small nightstand beside the large, four poster bed was a stack of clothes.

Murtagh frowned in puzzlement as he rose and picked the clothes up. They were of simple design but the fabric was of good quality. The kind of clothes the ones he was wearing had once been before the endless travel and fighting. They were not as fine as some of the clothing items he had worn in the Empire but he preferred these. Finery would always remind him of Galbatorix and his father. Both things he would rather forget permanently.

Leaving the bed, Murtagh made his way to the bathroom. He was looking forward to washing away the grime and blood. Hopefully Arya or Brom would be back soon and then he might be able to visit Zoe. He had heard nothing about her and he had forgotten to ask Arya, his mind too befuddled to think of more than a comfortable bed. He wondered what was going to happen to him. He was surrounded by his father's enemies who were in turn his enemies. The odds were not in his favor but then when had they ever been in his favor? It was a grim thought but it was the brutal truth.

And he would not run from the truth.

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><p>"We have been discussing the threat posed by the Urgals," said Brom. The old storyteller was watching Eragon's face closely. So far the Rider was maintaining an impressive poker face and it was nearly impossible to read a dragon when they did not want you to. "Along with that threat is the one now posed by the escaped Twin."<p>

The Rider shook his head, "Orik mentioned it briefly but did not go into details."

Ajihad steepled his hands and, his eyes focused on a bookcase, the faint frown lines around his mouth deepened as he concentrated fiercely on the problem at hand. "The Twin that Brom dueled was able to warn his brother of the attack and that warning gave him enough of a lead to escape our clutches. He has vanished into the tunnels and is no doubt on his way to either the Urguls or Durza – desperate for revenge.

"This leads us to the matter of the Urgals. We know they are planning on attacking the Varden and in turn the dwarves but not when or what their exact numbers are. Arya has suggested that you and Saphira leave as soon as possible for Du Weldenvarden so that you can begin your training there and are kept out of the battle that will be on its way."

Eragon was silent but to Saphira he said, _I am not sure I want to be safely away while others risk their lives but Arya does have a point. I am not ready to face Durza. _

_Maybe not but let us hear more before we make any final decision. _

Turning his full attention back to the man in front of him, Eragon noticed the tension that Ajihad was holding his shoulders. Arya's suggestion was not going over well with the leader of the Varden and it had obviously caught Brom in the middle. Was this another attempt by the elf to secure him and Saphira's loyalty for just the elves? Was it this matter that had the man before the Rider so worried? Eragon knew that the Varden's leader would want as much control over him and Saphira as possible and protect this loyalty from the elven Queen as much as possible.

Ajihad, to Eragon's surprise, took the blunt, straight to the truth approach with his next words. "I, however, believe that it would be in both you and Saphira's best interests to remain here. Not only would it increase your standing with the Varden and dwarves but it would increase moral among the men. Imagine what it would feel like to them if they saw you fleeing from battle. The Varden admire you but to us deeds speak more than words or legends long forgotten. We will also need all the help you can offer, for I fear we will be sorely outmatched in this battle."

Eragon was unsure how to reply but he was saved from doing so when Brom spoke. His voice was tense and Eragon was surprised but how little control the old man was using. He must, realized the Rider as he glanced quickly at his father's lined face, be both weary and frustrated by this development. "It is your choice Eragon but, if you choose to leave with Arya, then you must leave either tonight or early tomorrow."

_What do you think Saphira? We may alienate Arya if we choose to remain? But we risk the same with the Varden and they are the people we are meant to defend against the Empire. _

_It is losing situation all round, little one. Yet I think we should remain. It does not sit well with me this 'leaving.' As we saw today the Varden are not as strong as they would have us believe. The dwarves may be but they are fickle in their loyalties. I think it is time we demonstrated a little of our independence. Besides, if we did choose to leave, we would be leaving Zoe and Murtagh to face this upcoming battle alone. _

_You are right. If to earn the Varden's respect I must endanger my friendship with the elves then I must choose the lesser of the two evils. I will stay and see this battle through. _

_And I will stay by your side. _

Carefully choosing his words, Eragon said quietly, "Saphira and I wish to remain and assist the Varden however we can but," here Eragon paused to give his words more impact, "we will leave afterwards in search of the elves. I need the training that only they can offer me and the sooner I receive it the better for all parties involved."

Arya leaned forward, her eyebrows drawn together in a formidable frown. "I will not argue with you,Eragon, but I want an oath from you that you will leave this place as soon as you and Saphira are able to. You must go to my people as soon as possible and I want nothing coming between that. A great deal rests on your continued training."

Saphira decided to answer this, her great rumbling voice made even Ajihad wince slightly. _Do not demand such things from us Arya! We well know the things that rest on our shoulders and they are heavy burdens without you adding oaths to those. Eragon and I will go as soon as we are able but not a moment sooner. _

Arya met Saphira's bright eyes, "Very well Saphira but I think only for you and Eragon's sake."

_That may be but you should not doubt us so and neither should you._ Here she turned her full attention to Ajihad who looked slightly surprised and overwhelmed by the force of the dragon's mind. _I dislike being treated like a chess piece and if you continue to do so then I will destroy the board on which you play._

Silence fell. It was a silence that Eragon felt no need to break even as it stretched out longer and longer. Inside, the Rider was both shocked by Saphira's harsh words and also glad that she had so thoroughly stated her and Eragon's feelings. Only Saphira could afford such a bold move for she was the last female dragon in existence and none could risk affronting her.

Finally Brom, in a much more relaxed tone said diplomatically, "Onto other topics of discussion. Have the Varden begun to evacuate those who cannot fight to Surda? And have messengers been sent to the elves?"

Eragon relaxed back into his chair as he listened to Ajihad and Brom discuss when the women and children should leave, where scouts should be posted and how to deal with any opposition from the dwarven clans. Finally, Brom said, "I believe that all that needs to be spoken of has. Except for one thing: Murtagh."

Eragon tensed slightly, what would Ajihad do? Would he mistrust Murtagh because of his parentage or would he be able to accept Eragon's half-brother? Loyalty to Murtagh may pull Eragon and Saphira in another direction when they were already feeling stretched.

Ajihad ran a hand through his hair before saying, "I will send someone for him. He should be here before anything is decided. I cannot, for his own safety, allow him to wander around Tronjeihm. The dwarves would kill him on sight if they found out he was Morzan's son. Yet, I think that is a matter that should wait for morning my thoughts are elsewhere tonight Brom."

Brom nodded and then looked at Eragon, "Would you and Saphira like to return to the Dragon Hold?"

Eragon, suddenly realized that he still felt the lingering effects of exhaustion and sensing that Brom would rather he was not here when Murtagh's fate was decided, rose from his chair. "I will return with Saphira."

Arya rose as well, "I will accompany you to the main Hall."

Eragon inwardly groaned. He was certain that Arya would speak to him of his refusal to leave the Varden until after the Urgals attacked and he was not sure he wished to speak of that matter with her.

As he turned to leave, Ajihad suddenly spoke up from behind him and the words made Eragon turn slightly to meet the intense gaze of the man seated behind the giant table. "Rider Eragon, I have a word of caution for you. The Varden are stirred by your arrival and what it means for our future. Many will seek out you and Saphira's assistance in solving their problems and I wish you to know that I expect all my people to be treated with the utmost respect and fairness no matter how petty their worries are." The man's gaze was fierce and Eragon felt a little more weight settle on his shoulders as he met the Varden leader's eyes.

His voice heavy, Eragon said, "I understand."

Ajihad's gaze softened a little, "I hope you do Rider."

Nodding farewell to his father, Eragon, with Arya beside him and Saphira behind him, left the study. The moment they were out of hearing distance of the silent guards that stood watch over Ajihad's study, Arya turned on him and Eragon had to summon all his inner fortitude not to cower before the force of that gaze.

"What are you thinking Eragon?" her voice while demanding was not harsh. Her gaze was not angry rather worried and it was worry directed at him and Saphira. It was worry raised by the prospect of battle and, realized Eragon, the very real prospect of confronting Durza. "I can understand why you felt that you had to remain here to help the Varden but you need to continue your training."

Eragon sighed and walked to one of the many open windows that lined the corridor. It offered a spectacular view of the shining city. During his time in the study the sun had slipped away and the city was now lit by thousands of lights which made the marble gleam and the golden accents glow with rich warmth

In a quiet voice, his gaze never leaving the fairy tale sight before him, Eragon did his best to explain. "People seem to think that I am not aware of the politics around me, Arya, but I am very aware. I know the debt I owe the elves for Saphira and I know that I must ally myself with the Varden because I need their help. However, I have no intention of allowing myself to be caught in a net where I owe too many people too many things nor am I ignorant of my responsibilities as a Rider. I know what Saphira and I represent to the Varden and that is a burden I am still unfamiliar with."

Arya rested a hand gently on his shoulder, "I have misjudged you Eragon."

"How have you done that?" asked Eragon with a raised eyebrow as he glanced back at her. "I am a farm boy trying to be a Rider and I am failing at that." He heard Saphira give a low growl at his words but Eragon was focused on the elf in front of him. For Saphira would only tell him he was being foolish but Arya would tell him the truth. She was not the kind of person who sugar coated the truth nor was she in a position which afforded her such luxuries.

"No," said Arya with a firm shake of her head. "You are not a farm boy any longer Eragon. Yes, you are young and inexperienced but not in the way I feared. Already you are a powerful player and, as you demonstrated in your meeting with Ajihad, you are more than capable of weighing dangerous odds." She smiled slightly as if amused by her own words, "I was wrong and I allowed my own fears and feelings to cloud what was truly in front of me. I ask for you and Saphira's forgiveness for making a difficult situation worse."

For a second Eragon did not know what to say but when he did find his voice he merely said, "You honor me with your words Arya-Svitkona."

Behind him Saphira inclined her great head in acceptance to the elf and her words. Remembering Brom's lessons, Eragon twisted his hand over his chest in the elvish sign of respect and said, "I never thanked you for Saphira but I think that I owe that to you now."

Arya nodded her head, "You are welcome Eragon. You have already repaid your debt to me by showing that you are worthy of the honor. Do you wish me to show you the way to the central chamber?"

Eragon paused and looked at Saphira, "That may be a good idea. I fear that I am as lost in Tronjeihm as if it was a maze with no end."

Arya smiled a little wider and said, "Then follow me."

With that she led the two through the corridors and back into the large, circular chamber where the Star Rose glittered far above. A small group of people made room for the large sapphire dragon, watching her with wide and amazed eyes.

"Arya."

"Yes Eragon?"

"Would you pass my greetings onto Murtagh for me if you see him?"

The elf nodded and then said, "You should go now Eragon before more people come to admire the new Rider and dragon. I will see you tomorrow."

Eragon nodded and quickly mounted Saphira who launched herself upwards into the still air with a powerful push. The two glided above the white city for a little while. Simply enjoying the other's companionship before Eragon said, _Was your words to Ajihad a wise choice Saphira? _

She snorted, _I am a dragon and I wanted him to realize that. I am not some sort of horse or canon but a dragon. _

_I know but…_

_What is done is done little one. That study made my scales itch and it was unfair of Arya and Ajihad to put us in such a position but I can see why they did it. _

_Yes, I suppose._ Eragon rested his cheek against the warm scales of Saphira's neck and found himself drifiting towards sleep. He woke briefly when Saphira landed and slipped under her wing but then he fell deeply asleep.

* * *

><p>I was waking.<p>

I felt as if I was coming up for air after diving deep into a still, deep pool. The path to waking was a long one it seemed but I was glad to be waking. I had been sleeping for far too long and I wanted to be part of the waking, moving world again. My thoughts, sluggish at first, slowly started to clear and I felt life return to my body. After so long of being cut off, adrift in darkness, the feel was a strange one for I suddenly felt heavy once more as gravity took control.

I forced my eyes open to see the white ceiling of the room that I woken in before. The bed was soft beneath me and the blankets over top of me were warm and soft. My mouth was dry but I no longer felt like I had just been frozen, microwaved and then frozen again. What a relief.

A voice came from my left and a face appeared over top of me. It was a very beautiful face - an elven face - for only an elf could have a face that was as perfect, as flawless, as this. Not a single imperfection or blemish upon it. A white, unmarked canvas upon which no age showed nor any sign of past experiences.

So this must be Arya.

She seemed to glow from within and, while her face was angular, it was refined with high cheekbones and brilliant emerald green eyes. Having that perfect face gazing down at me, when I knew I did not look my best, made me feel about as attractive as a fly next to a butterfly. Arya seemed to be quite the all-star: flawless beauty, powerful magic abilities, unrivaled swordsmanship, superb diplomatic skills and, as if this was not enough, the elf was a warrior princess. Yet, there was much under this mask of perfection and I could not help but feel that Arya and I would either be the greatest of friends or the worst enemies. I had imagined a friendship between us because we were very similar in many respects, but I was an unknown quantity, a dangerous unknown quantity, and, sometimes too much similarity can be the force that drives people apart.

I felt no envy for her.

How could one envy someone such as this?

"You're awake - at last." Arya's voice was smooth like a quick flowing mountain stream and it contained all the chill of winter breeze. Not exactly a warm welcome back to land of the living. I couldn't help but feel a little insulted with her 'at last' comment. What did she think I had been doing? Catching up on my beauty rest? My irritation was unreasonable, however, and so I forced it away. When dealing with elves emotions and hasty words could be fatal and this would be first test against one of the fair folk race.

I pushed myself up slowly. I felt stiff but otherwise my head was clear and nothing hurt at all. I did not even ache like I had before. Making sure my voice was friendly I said, "Nice to meet you to."

Finally able to observe the room around me, I took in the sight of it. It was long and obviously was some sort of Healing Hall. Beds and cupboards lined the walls and the curtain at the end of the room showed a little of some sort of balcony. The place was deserted and I wondered why - surely it would be bustling with at least a few healers or a few other injured people? Had I been placed in an unused ward because of who I arrived with?

Arya narrowed her eyes slightly at me, "Who are you Zoe?"

Right to the point and straight off the bat to Arya without even giving me a few minutes to collect myself. Nice job – learn some interrogation tactics from Durza maybe?

I groaned inwardly and once again had to rein in my irritation and impatience. "I am me," I paused, watching irritation flicker across Arya's face. Before she could snap my head off again I said, "I would rather go into this with you at another time. When I know a little of what is going on."

"I need to know now."

I winced at the sharpness in the elf's voice and a little flame of anger mixed with righteous indignation began to grow inside of me. I, as I had just discovered, was every bit as regally whatever as this elf princess and it was because of me - yes me - that she was not the one lying in this bed or, even worse, on her way to Galbatroix. Call me immature but I triple dare you not feel insulted by this elf when you have just woken up from two weeks of being stuck in a trance slowly dying of poison.

I allowed a little of my own feelings to slip into my voice now. Though it was not as sharp as Arya's it was enough to let her know that she had crossed a line with me then. "Why? Why do you suddenly demand answers from me? Especially right now?" I met the elf's gaze with my own as we silently challenged the other to a staring contest that lasted for a whole minute before Arya said, her voice low and commanding.

"During the time I travelled with Brom, Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira they told me little of you or your past. Yet you know the inner and most secret workings of the Empire. You somehow have become so important to your companions that they risk death by exhaustion or Urgal's to reach the Varden in time to save you. Was it for friendship? Or was it because you are too important to die? Do you understand now why I question you so closely?"

"Listen to me closely Arya Svit-kona," I paused for a moment and then continued in a heated whisper. "If my friends told you nothing of my past it is to protect this world. It is because of me that you sit here and are able to ask me these questions and, if my friends chose to risk their lives for my sake, then it is because they are my friends and they know I would do the same for them. I owe you some answers and I know that, especially after the way I contacted you in Gil'ead, but this is neither the place nor time for them."

Once again we stared each other down and I wondered just how much longer I was going to have to fight this. Already, within a few minutes of regaining consciousness, I was embroiled in another fight. Is this all my life has become?

The elf sighed and shook her head. I expected more demands and more of her sharp anger but her next words surprised me, "Fine Zoe. But I expect answers and I want them soon."

I inclined my head, "You will have them." She would to. I knew all too well what it felt like to be purposely kept in the dark when you knew that you deserved answers.

The elf nodded her head and then said, "I am sorry if I began our relationship with harsh words but you have been a very complex question that has plagued my thoughts since I first talked to you. I am not used to such problems and I hoped to answer all my questions the moment you were awake and we were alone."

I smirked slightly and refrained from saying what I really felt about her harsh words. "I understand Arya. What has been happening?"

The elf sighed and began to summarize all the key events of the past two weeks I had been knocked out. I listened with growing horror and anger as she explained of Brom's killing of the one of the Twins and the other's escape into the tunnels. That silly, stupid, revenge seeking story teller! Why did he have to leap in the moment he met the Twin and kill him?! Yes, it was my fault for telling him of the two magician's betrayal but still I had awoken to a complete and utter mess. A mess that was about to get more complicated for the Varden would expect me to tell them exactly how and when the Urgal's would attack. Something that was too risky for me to do without risking the future. The Twins could die after the Varden won, after this key victory was secured but it seemed my life was just going to get a little more complicated.

It would all turn out alright.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Got any spare luck you could lend me?

When Arya finished, I said, "Sounds like it has been quite the time. Is there any way I can escape this place? I need to see Brom."

And give that storyteller another lecture on waiting before killing or at least waiting to speak to me before he did.

The elf nodded and said, "Your clothes have been cleaned and repaired. Your weapons are with them and your other belongings are in my apartments. Once you are dressed I will take you to see Brom. I know that Ajihad is eager to meet you and your companions will be relieved to see you among the waking again."

With that Arya rose and left, closing the door softly behind her. Once she was gone I pushed the covers off and tested my legs which felt strong enough. Perhaps a little weak from my endless sleep and the poison but, otherwise, I felt alright. There was a bowl of clean water and a rag beside my bed which I used to quickly wipe my face and arms. Someone had already washed my hair and I was reasonably clean but the water was refreshing. My clothes and weapons were neatly placed at the end of my bed on a folding stool and, as there was no one around, I quickly changed and left the simple white shift I had been wearing on the bed. Once my sword was firmly belted around my much thinner waist and my bow secure, I left the Healing Hall.

Arya was waiting for me outside and without a word she set off through the white marble corridors of Tronjheim with me trailing a few steps behind her. On our walk through the corridors, we passed by many dwarves and the occasional human. Whenever we did meet someone they paused and stared at both Arya and I. I tried to ignore them and focus on the back of my elf guide but it was not easy when I heard whispering and the occasional word of 'that's the girl' or 'they say she is a friend of the Rider.'

I wondered how I had coped with this in my other world, my other life where I had been the center of attention. The new found knowledge of who I really was hadn't really set in and I was doing my best to ignore it. I wanted to just live in the moment and not wonder what kind of memories and feelings would be popping over the horizon in the next few weeks. How would I change? How had this already changed me? I didn't feel any different but I did feel a little more secure in myself. The constant worry of what vision might flicker in front of my eyes and just who I was had been wearing down on me. Now…well now I knew. I knew enough to start rebuilding the foundation of who I was.

Slowly but surely. Brick by brick.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I really didn't admire the city like I may have had my thoughts no been so demanding. As it was I nearly walked into Arya when she stopped outside a black, cedar door that was guarded by two stone faced, stuck up looking guards who did not shift from their place when Arya pushed open the door and I followed her inside. I was reminded of the guards at Buckingham Palace, they might as well have been made of stone and I had to bite my lower lip to keep in an immature giggle.

The study reminded me vaguely of the one I had met Eomund in, however, this one overlooked the glistening white marble city of Tronjheim and it was much bigger. The ceiling was vaulted and it could easily fit Saphira without her having to worry about banging into the bookcases or hitting the ceiling. Sitting at the heavy, dark wood desk was Ajihad, the Leader of the Varden. He was an impressive, dark skinned man that was watching me with the look of one who has just seen an interesting new player enter the game and is excited to see how they can be maneuvered. It made me feel uncomfortable and I wondered if I was ready for this. Also sitting there was Brom and, beside him was Murtagh, who the moment he saw me, leapt up and said happily.

"Zoe!"

His dark eyes shone with relief and I saw his shoulders relax slightly as if a weight had been taken from them.

I smiled openly as joy rose up within me at the sight of two companions. "Murtagh! How good it is to see you again! And you to Brom."

Murtagh stepped forward and hugged my tightly. He was wearing new clothes that fitted him well but I noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. The wild ride to save my life had left its marks upon even the young, strong warrior before me.

When he pulled back from the embrace I said quietly, "I hope that all is well with you Murtagh." He nodded and I felt a little better, at least Murtagh was not currently locked up with an uncertain future at the hands of the Varden - at least for now.

Brom rose then and said, "You gave us quite the scare girl."

He too embraced me and the familiar smell of pipe smoke that hung around him made me smile. Brom looked exhausted and I felt guilt rise inside of me. They had done that, that desperate ride, all for my sake. Few could claim such friends and I was one of those very lucky few.

"I am sorry Brom."

He sighed nosily and said with a smile, "Ah well girl at least you are still standing in front of us." He stepped back and gestured towards Ajihad, who rose from his chair. "May I introduce you to Ajihad, Leader of the Varden."

Somewhere another part of me flickered on and a ready, smooth answer came from me. I smiled slightly as if I was honored to meet the man and I met the fierce, dark gaze of the man at the desk with my own gaze. I secretly challenged him to try and test his limits with me for I sensed that it was better to get this part of my relationship with the Varden over and done with right now. "Well met Ajihad of the Varden."

I felt as if I had done this a thousand times and I saw a flicker of surprise in Brom's eyes but my focus was on the man in front of me who looked at me with new and keen interest. Let him try, I thought, I am not a pawn. Let him test himself against me.

Who was this? Who was this person speaking? Was this me?

"Well met indeed, my lady. News of your deeds has reached my ears and the Varden owes you much for your assistance." His lips curved upwards slightly in a subtle sort of hint of a smile that conveyed a certain amount of enjoyment in this game of words.

I smiled slightly in response and said colly, "If my reputation precedes me first then yours most certainly does." I kept my face clear of emotion and my full attention was on Ajihad.

I felt strange…as if a new kind of intoxicating power was sweeping through my veins and filling me with cool confidence.

"Indeed," said Ajihad whipping right back with his own answer. "From what Brom tells me you have a great deal of knowledge of the Empire."

Ah so Brom had spoken of that had he? Or had Ajihad merely put two and two together? A combination of things most likely…

"Knowledge," I batted back quickly, "that is gained from observing the movement of Galbatroix's troops and his own motives."

Before our battle of words could continue Brom interrupted. "Zoe – would you like a seat? What of you Arya?" I sensed that Brom was desperate to try and stop this battle before Ajihad backed me into a corner but I wanted to take a risk.

I accepted the offered chair as did Arya but, the second we were seated in front of the large wooden desk, Ajihad suddenly changed tactics to that of a host welcoming a guest who he had been concerned about. "I hope you are fully recovered from the poison."

I leaned back - after all you might as well be comfortable when dueling with words - and said with a smile, "I am. Thank you."

"It is a wonder you were able to survive as long as you did."

I shrugged and said, "I was very lucky." I kept my answers short, one-sided and forced Ajihad to make all the moves. Which he did – ha!

"Your accent is one that I am not familiar with."

"Neither is yours." I saw a flash of irritation in Ajihad's eyes but it faded quickly to be replaced by a calculating one. Once again he changed tactics, as if he hoped that a new approach would yield better results.

"Why do you so openly oppose Galbatorix?"

"I am supposed to be dead. Anyone would risk death when they are supposed to be dead."

"Your answers are crooked, my lady."

"I give them when the questions themselves are straight." I watched him closely. Inside I was amused but I was also wondering what the consequences of this dance of words would be.

Ajihad shook his head, "I wonder what your arrival means for the Varden."

"It depends on how the Varden wishes to see it."

Ajihad tilted his head and gazed at me thoughtfully before saying quietly, "Who are you?"

I sighed and shook my head slightly, "Why does everyone ask that? I am nothing here and nor do I wish to be anything particularly important."

"It could be argued that all that has happened is because of your meddling."

Brom and Arya were left behind in this conversation; this was between me and the leader of the Varden.

I shrugged, "Perhaps but it can also be argued that we are little more than pieces of game that is played by Fate and Fortune."

"What will you do now?"

"Whatever is required of me to ensure the safety of those I care for." I met Ajihad's gaze with my own, steely one and I hoped he realized the true meaning of my words. They meant I would not ally myself with the Varden but rather continue to serve only myself and my friends - in other words I was still a free agent but I could be influenced if my friends were the glint of understanding in Ajihad's eyes I saw that he fully understood my words.

Brom broke the silence with a sharp voice, "What was the purpose of that?"

I glanced at him, his eyes were irritated and from the set of his mouth I could guess that he had found the entire conversation to be grating and far too intense for his liking. Arya looked a little bored and as if she had expected nothing less but nothing more. Murtagh just looked on impassive, his eyes fixed on me and Ajihad as if he was waiting for a sword fight.

Ajihad smiled a little, "The purpose of that was to find out just what opponent we each face. I have found one that is quick on her feet and a dangerous ally."

I smiled slightly and said soothingly, "Is there something specific you wished to discuss Brom?"

"No," snapped the story teller. "Murtagh run along. Eragon will meet you at the Front Gates to spar in an hour. Orik will show you the way." Murtagh nodded and farewells were said, I suddenly wished I could go with him and spar. It would be a wonderful way to find out if my strength had returned in full but my audience with Ajihad was not over.

"Now Zoe," said Ajihad, "with greetings over and pleasantries exchanged there is the matter of the Urgals. Is there anything you can tell us that may be of use?" I watched the man in front of me carefully, his eyes were worried and I saw tension in the clench of his jaw. Yet, despite that, I wondered what I should say.

When I spoke it was with the utmost care. "The only thing that will be of use to you and I suspect you have already guessed this is that Durza will be a part of this battle."

Ajihad leaned forward, his voice became sharper,"If you are hiding things that may save my people then I want to know them now. Or their deaths will be on your consciousness."

I leaned forward to and my voice became harder, lower and sharper. "I grow tired of this conversation but I will repeat this - this time to you - I do not hide information that will save lives but I will not reveal knowledge that will kill those same lives maybe not today or tomorrow but later, when the stakes are higher and more depends on winning. You will have to trust my judgment if you want my information or assistance. If that price is too high for you, Ajihad of the Varden, then say so now and I will not waste my time on such matters."

Silence fell, deep, heavy silence and I waited it out knowing that it was necessary that all three people in this room heard those words. Brom already did, but Arya and Ajihad? No, they needed to understand this part of me and what it meant to ask me for information. It was not free - nothing ever was - but was I worth that price?

That was their decision to make.

At long last Ajihad spoke, "We need you. The Varden need you and if that is the price we must pay then so be it. I only hope that you are wise enough to know when this knowledge is needed."

I inclined my head, "It is no easy burden but I promise you that, in time, all with be revealed to you." Ajihad nodded slowly and I rose from my chair, I felt the urge to run or to walk or to vent some of the pent up energy inside of me. "I wish to see Eragon," Brom and Arya nodded understanding but, before I could leave, Ajihad spoke again.

"You gave no answer when I asked you who you were Zoe. So I ask again: who are you?"

My hand tightened around the hilt of my sword but when I answered my voice was calm, collected and even. "I am many things, my Lord, but above all I am a friend. I am friend to Eragon, to Saphira, to Brom, to Murtagh and perhaps to the Varden. As a friend I will fight for those I care for even if the price is my life."

Ajihad said nothing just inclined his head and I turned, making my way to the door and back out into the hallway. A moment later Brom appeared behind me and then Arya. We walked in silence back to main chamber with its four tunnels. No one was there and everything was silent.

Brom gazed at me and said, "You continue to amaze me girl. Why did you do what you did?"

"Because Brom I cannot afford to simply hand out such information freely. You cannot expect me to and I had hoped you understood that."

"I do," he said seriously but the worry was still there and the fear, "but I have never seen you go on the attack so Zoe. Why did you engage with Ajihad so? You have only made yourself more interesting to the Varden by displaying a complete lack of respect for Ajihad's position or his requests."

I sighed and suddenly became aware of my grumbling stomach, food would be welcome after this conversation but first I had to finish this. "I went on the attack with Ajihad because he believed me an easy to use pawn from your description. I would rather he treat me like a wild card, an independent player, and realized that my knowledge does not come free now than in the middle of a battle."

Brom shook his head and said, "I will see you later. Arya." With that the storyteller turned and left through one of the tunnels leaving me with the silent elf.

I looked at Arya and said, "What should I do now?"

"Come back with me to my apartments. We can speak and there will be food waiting there to." I smiled slightly and Arya and I left the Hall. I hoped to be able to return and meet Murtagh and Eragon at the training field for a spar. That would be fun and it would be a good excuse to use my sword.

The elf had spacious rooms in a long hallway of more white marble with the occasional richly embroidered tapestry on the wall. Inside the apartments were three bedrooms each with a view of the city and a well-furnished sitting room that could also be used as a sort of dining room. Someone had left a tray of oatmeal, bread, a selection of jams and a pot of hot tea along with some cups and milk on a table. The meal was light but filling to my shrunken stomach. Arya waited until I had finished my first meal in ages before asking, "Will you tell me now?"

I leaned back with a cup of tea and considered the best way to approach the situation. "You know I do no come from Alagaesia but what you do not know is that I come from another world."

"Another world?" asked Arya confused and shocked by my words.

Remembering the way Eomund had explained it I did my best. "Yes, another world – a completely different universe. These worlds are separated by a kind of...of curtain that both divides and links them. However some things can slip though the curtain, like ideas or stories. There are also gateways, portals that allow for travel between these worlds. Though they are difficult to use and even harder to find."

"So you found one of these gateways?" and so I explained.

It felt good to talk about it all and Arya was a patient listener. I told her of waking up in the middle of Brom and Eragon's campsite, of the strange visions that turned out to be my resurfacing memories, of Eomund and the truth about my heritage. When I finished Arya was silent but her face was calm, her eyes soft not hard or suspicious.

When she spoke, her voice was low, "Your tale is a wondrous one and I now understand why you do not speak of it lightly Zoe daughter of Angard and Llyr. The burden of the future and the past hang around you but I am honored to know you."

I felt a great sense of relief, of relaxation spread through me, she believed me. Somehow having Arya accept all that I had told her made everything seem more easy to understand and put it in perspective. "Thank you Arya Svit-kona." I had never meant a 'thank you' more than I did right then. Arya smiled and then she rose, offering a hand and I accepted it, rising so we were eye to eye.

"Let us go spar. I wish to see you in action with your sword and I promised Ajihad I would watch Eragon to determine his level of skill."

"I would love to use my sword again," I said with a smile.

With that my new friend – how remarkable considering our first interaction with each other – and I made our way through a serious of shortcuts, of hidden doorways and city streets to the front gates and the sparring fields. My heart was a little lighter with the knowledge that I could count Arya as a friend, but it was counteracted by the heavy with the knowledge of what was to come. This peace would not last long. No, soon it would be shattered with the bellows of Urgals, the screams of dying men and stained red with blood.

Shattered.

Broken.

What was I doing?

* * *

><p><strong><em>Revised 117/2014_**


	24. Duels and Complicated Feelings

The unruly clatter of fighting reached Eragon and Murtagh's ears as they came to the training field.

The loud clang of steel clashing on steel, the solid thump of arrows striking padded targets, the rattle and crack of wooden staves and the shouts of men in mock battle, the noise was confusing, yet each group had a unique rhythm and pattern. The sight was intimidating to a person used to dueling in the relative quiet of a small camp. Suddenly, Eragon became aware of the simple fact that he was going to have to duel with everyone watching.

The bulk of the training grounds were occupied by a crooked block of foot soldiers struggling with shields and poleaxes nearly as tall as themselves. They drilled as a group in formations. Practicing beside them were hundreds of individual warriors outfitted with swords, maces, spears staves, flails, shields of all shapes and sizes, and even, Eragon saw, someone with a pitchfork. He supposed that, when all else failed, one might as well be able to put any tool left lying around to use.

There were as many dwarves as humans on the field at the time that Eragon and Murtagh arrived there. The two groups mainly kept to themselves as if an invisible line separated them from intermingling. Behind the sparring warriors, a broad line of archers fired steadily at grey sack cloth dummies. To Eragon's eyes there was an impressive number of warriors practicing for battle, but to Murtagh's Empire trained eyes the number was pathetically small.

Before either Eragon or Murtagh had a chance to wonder what he was supposed to do, a man, his head and blocky shoulders covered by a mail coif, strode over to them. The rest of him was protected by a rough oxhide suit that still had patches of hair on it. A huge sword - almost as long as Eragon - hung across his broad back. He ran a quick eye over Saphira, Murtagh and Eragon, as if evaluating how dangerous they were, then said gruffly, "Knurla Orik. You've been gone too long. There's no one left to spar with."

Orik smiled. "Oei, that's because you bruise everyone from head to toe with your monster sword."

"Everyone except you," he corrected with a smirk.

Orik grunted and said," That's because I'm faster than a giant like you."

The man looked at Eragon and Murtagh again. "I'm Fredric. I've been told that you two would want to spar. I was also told to see how capable you are."

Murtagh shrugged and answered first in a long, almost arrogant drawl, "We are more capable then most."

Eragon remained silent and waited for Fredric's response. The man in front of them seemed straight forward enough but he would also be curious to see the new Rider in action – along with every single man and dwarf currently sparring on the field. At that moment Eragon was glad at his half-brother's ability to summon up a wall of cold pride and arrogance that seemed to scorn anyone's attempt at doubt.

Saphira chuckled in his mind, _Intimidated little one?_

_Yes._ It was true, he felt out of place here. He was unused to his fights being observed by anyone other than his companions. Here Eragon felt self-conscious, young and untried. When he was alone, no one but himself and those he knew, it was easy to spar and push his limits without fear of being ridiculed.

Fredric shook his; the coif clinked like sack of coins. "I doubt any fights you two have been in have lasted more than a few minutes. What we're concerned about is how you'll be able to hold up in a battle that may drag on for hours or even weeks if it's a siege."

Eragon was about to answer when a familiar, much missed, much loved voice rang across the field. It was a voice that could both comfort and reprimand and he had missed it and, above all, he had missed its owner. He had never thought to hear it again. He had thought it would remain in his memories and always – for as long as he lived – belong to a friend that he was too slow to save.

Both he and Murtagh spun at the same moment.

And there she was.

Zoe.

Zoe with her dark hair braided up and dressed in familiar black clothing. It was Zoe with her usual weapons and, unlike the last time she had been conscious, her face was not grey with exhaustion and pain. The bewitching, quick features were now lit with a radiant smile that made her blue-grey eyes shine. She looked remarkably unchanged as if she hadn't just spent the last week and a bit in a coma. Everything about her outward physical appearance was the same but, the long Eragon regarded her, the more he thought he saw something different. It was something intangible, a faint aura of power that hung about Zoe like an invisible cloak and, while he had seen it maybe once or twice before on their journey from Dras'Leona, Now it seemed to have settled around her and stayed there. Whatever it was or how it had come to be there, Eragon did not know.

Her voice, clear and faintly amused, rang out again. "Murtagh! Eragon! Saphira!"

He was not aware of walking forward but he found himself standing in front of Zoe. Murtagh and Saphira were right there to and, in silence of this moment, the Rider forgot about the dueling soldiers to Fredrick who was watching curiously. Without thinking about the hundreds of people who were sure to see this or about any of the things that would be said, Eragon embraced Zoe tightly.

"I'm glad to see you again Zoe," whispered the Rider into her hair. He hoped she realized just how much he had and not just him but Saphira as well.

Her reply was soft, "And I you Eragon." She squeezed him tightly once more and then they drew back looking at each other.

Changed or not, thought Eragon amused, this was still the Zoe he knew.

Zoe moved passed him and went to Saphira who she embraced tightly around the neck. They spoke privately; whatever was said between them was enough to make the giant blue dragon hum with happiness and, if it was possible, Zoe's smile grew even more and then the girl turned to Murtagh. The two obviously very pleased to see each other.

But Eragon was distracted from watching their meeting by the simple fact that Arya was also there. He had not noticed her for his attention had been so focused on Zoe and the feelings that seeing her had brought to the forefront of his mind. Remembering his manners, Eragon greeted the elf with the traditional elvish phrase and Arya replied in a similar fashion. On the outside the elf appeared coldly regal but Eragon was certain that he saw a little bit of amusement in her cool green eyes. In the time he had known her, Eragon had never managed to broach this cold exterior and, instead, he tried to be nothing but polite and reserved in his exchanges with the elf.

It was then that Zoe turned and said, "Who wants to spar?"

Her smile had a wicked edge to it and her eyes danced with anticipation. Inwardly Eragon groaned and hoped he would not be the one who was pummeled by Zoe. He had hoped she had not come to spar but obviously it would take more than fatal poison to hold her down for long. Though, he hoped, she would know her limits well enough to stop before she overdid it. Perhaps, however, his friend was well aware of what was coming and the importance of being up to the challenge of battle. They would all need to be honed and ready for the conflict.

Fredrick, with a silent Orik beside him, was watching the proceedings with an amused but slightly worried smile. At Zoe's words he said kindly and with a faint hint of condescension, "My lady, I mean no disrespect, but surely you cannot spar so soon after recovering?"

Zoe gave him a slight smile but Eragon saw the steely glint in her eyes and winced. He had made Fredrick's mistake before and had learned, as Zoe had intended him to, that it was never wise to speak such things to the young woman. Brom may be the king of lectures and reprimands, but Zoe was a passionate arguer and Eragon had never mentioned it again.

In a cool voice she replied with a very cold smile. "I can assure you that I am recovered enough from the poison to spar. I would not suggest it if I did not feel I was ready."

Fredrick opened his mouth to speak but Orik beat him to it. The dwarf's eyes were watching the young woman with keen interest and it was obvious to all that Orik was curious to see her in action. From the warning way he put a hand on Fredrick's arm, the dwarf was also aware that continuing the argument would only end up with Fredrick on the ground with a sword at his neck. In his gravelly voice the dwarf said, "Let her be Fredrick. She wouldn't be here if the healers though she could not handle it." Fredrick looked reluctant and was about to say something more but Zoe had already dismissed him and turned to look at Arya, Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira.

With one eyebrow arched she asked with a smile, "Well? Who wants to spar?"

Murtagh stepped forward, a faint smirk playing on his face and said, "I'll go with you if Eragon goes with Arya."

Eragon felt apprehension grow inside of him. He could barely fight Zoe let alone Arya. Even the weakest elf could easily overpower a human and Arya was far from weak. As if reading his thoughts Arya cast him a small, amused smirk and, before Eragon could say anything, Arya answered for him. "That is a fine idea."

With that the elf along with Murtagh and Zoe walked into the center of the training grounds. Eragon followed close behind with Saphira. The warriors ceased their sparring; parting before them and, within a few seconds, the entire field fell silent as all turned to watch the events unfolding. As the last of the sound of clatter from weapons died away, those present turned to watch the duels about to take place with eager anticipation.

When they reached the open space that had been cleared, Zoe and Murtagh squared off while Arya stood beside Eragon and Saphira. The two combatants drew their swords and began to circle the other until, suddenly, with a crash of steel upon steel, the two engaged. They dueled up and down, recklessly combining and disassembling moves in ways that both demonstrated their skill and their fearless fighting styles. At points it was difficult to tell what blade belonged to who as the two danced back and forth.

They were a well matched pair. Murtagh was stronger than Zoe but each warrior's technical skill equal. Where Murtagh relied on heavy blows or physical bulk, Zoe relied on speed or grace to carry her through. As the duel wore on, the young woman began to dominate the fight more and more. Murtagh, finding himself more on the defensive, turned his attacks to parries and blocks with the occasional foray against Zoe.

After a particular intense series of blows that saw sparks fly from the two swords, Zoe, with a flick of her wrist and a swift spin sent Murtagh's sword flying out of his hand. Stunned silence from the gathered soldiers met the completion of the duel and Eragon was rather amused to see the surprised expression upon Fredrick's heavy face. Orik, meanwhile, remained as unreadable as a stone wall. His face set as he regarded the scene before him.

Raising the point of her shining sword to Muratgh's throat she s with a smile, "Thank you Murtagh. I needed that."

Murtagh just groaned in response and pushed his sweaty hair back from his brow. Lowering her blade, Zoe glanced around at the silent, awed crows of soldiers who were staring at her as if she was completely different species. Eragon could have sworn she looked a little embarrassed by the attention.

Once Murtagh had gathered his sword, the two switched positions with Arya and Eragon taking their turn on the combat field. An even deeper silence fell as the soldiers watched the two fighters. A kind of eager anticipation rising for, of course, this was sure to be a fight to remember. The Dragon Rider – not just any Rider but their Rider – paired against an elven ambassador who was famously ruthless with a sword and had been known to disarm a man in less than thirty seconds. Was it any wonder that the silence was so complete? To see Murtagh and Zoe fight was one thing and this was another.

As Eragon drew Zar'oc, he heard Fredrick mutter to Orik, "I wonder who will win."

Eragon smiled grimly. _Not me_, he thought.

In his mind Saphira said, _Acquit yourself well Eragon. She does not wish to harm you but, instead, find out your level of skill_.

_Right. _

With that Eragon focused solely on his blade, knowing that he was going to have to use every single movement, trick, slash, parry, jab and block he had to even keep pace with Arya. Yet, despite his fear, he was also strangely excited. This was a chance to test himself against an elf and find out just how good he really was. After all the training he had done these past months, he could finally determine whether he was a capable warrior and Eragon was determined he would at least prove he was capable enough to remain and fight in the upcoming battle.

They faced each other across the circle of warriors. Arya drew her sword with her left hand. The weapon was thinner than Eragon's but just as long and sharp. Copying the movement, Eragon slid Zar'roc out of its polished sheath and held the red blade point down at his side. For a long moment they stood motionless, elf and human watching each other. It flashed through Eragon's mind that this was how many of his fights with Brom and Zoe began. Watching. Waiting. Calculating.

Eragon initiated the fight by moving forward and raising his sword ever so slightly. With a blur of motion Arya jumped at him, slashing at his ribs. Eragon reflexively parried the attack, and their swords met in a shower of sparks. Zar'roc was battered aside as if it were no more than a fly. Fighting Arya was a little like fighting Zoe but not even his friend could match the enhanced speed and strength of the elf.

Knowing that the only way to hold his own was to keep moving and keep from being backed into a corner, Eragon began the most complicated series of attack he knew. He flowed from one pose to another, recklessly combining and modifying in every possible way. But no matter how inventive he was, Arya's sword always stopped his. She matched his actions with effortless grace as though it was the easiest thing in the world and it was – for her.

Eragon could never remember how long they fought for. It was timeless, filled with nothing but the motions, the clatter of swords and feeling of Zar'roc in his sweaty hand. As time went on, however, Eragon began to feel the effects of the fierce fighting. He was strong; fit after weeks of dueling but his endurance could not match that of Arya's whose veins hummed with magic. At last, in an ill-considered move, he lunged forward only to have Arya sidestep and sweep her own blade up to his jawbone with supernatural speed

Eragon froze as the icy metal touched his skin. His muscles trembled from the extortion. Dimly he heard Saphira bugle and the warriors cheering raucously around them. Arya lowered her sword and sheathed it. She nodded her head slightly, "You have passed my test," she said quietly.

Dazed, he slowly straightened and sheathed his blade before turning to look back at Saphira who was grinning widely. _Well done little one. _

_I lost!_ He snapped feeling irritated and little put out. Despite his skill he was no match for Arya and by extension, Durza.

_Maybe, but few could have held Arya off as you did and for as long as you did. You are still learning little one and what matters more is giving it your best try no matter the outcome._

Orik smiled a rare smile and clapped Eragon on the arm and said, "Well fought." Murtagh nodded in agreement and rested a hand briefly on his half-brother's shoulder while Zoe just smiled happily at him. She appeared pleased with him and his performance that day and, despite the final outcome of the duel, Eragon was glad that he at least managed to acquit himself well enough that no one would dare challenge his right to fight based on skill alone.

It was a start.

And he had to start from somewhere.

* * *

><p>Everyone was about to disperse when Arya called out, "Zoe! Your turn!"<p>

The soldiers stared in amazement and even the dwarves murmured in surprise. I glanced at Arya and, despite the faint fluttering of nerves I felt at the idea of taking on the elf; I drew my sword and walked back into the center of the open space created by the soldiers. It was a challenge that I was unable to resist despite the weakness that still lingered in my body from the poison.

Trying to tell myself this would be fun and without pausing to think too hard on what I was about to do, I drew my blade for the second time that day. I considered what I knew about the elf and her vastly superior skill: Arya was faster, stronger and, from what I knew of myself right then, probably more experienced then I was. She, like me, was going in for the win and neither of us was going to give in easily to the other. I also knew that I was probably only going to win this fight by pure, sheer luck and the most likely outcome would be in Ayra's favor but that did not stop me.

Better to try then never know.

With that we squared off, each holding our swords loosely as we paced out a circle. We watched each other with unblinking concentration, waiting for the other to make a move. As I paced watching Arya a sudden sense of calm spread through me. It was just a duel. This was nothing new or different for me and it only would be if I let myself get intimidated by my partner. I knew how to fight; I knew what my weaknesses and strengths were so the only thing to do was let the fight play out as it did. I was ready. I had been ready for a duel like this for a long time.

_Right. Keep telling yourself that Zoe. Keep telling yourself you've been ready for a long time and then, when you end up flat on your back, just remember that you went into like a confident fool. _

It was Arya who acted first.

Leaping moved forward, her blade coming down to strike at my sword arm but I dodged the attack and this unbalanced Arya enough that I was able to initiate the first strike at her undefended right side with my sword. She parried and, with a nod to each other other as these opening forays were completed; we began to duel in earnest. This was the first fight I had fought since arriving in Alagaesia where I was evenly matched, if not bettered, by another swordsman. It took all of my focus, all of my speed to keep up and stay on the attack instead of the defensive. Yet, despite my best attempts, Arya's blade always stopped mine. It was similar to what had happened to Eragon and, because I am a competitive person, it made me irritated.

In a brief respite when both of us separated and returned to our pacing, I quickly reviewed all my options and all my potential attacks. Nothing came to me, I had exhausted all my tricks and I was beginning to wonder if I should just admit defeat now. My pride quickly rejected that idea and I returned to watching my partner as I waited for the fight to start again. My breaths were coming fast and my hair was plastered to the back of neck with sweat. I was not as fit and strong as I had been before Gil'ead and I felt it keenly then. With an almost invisible movement, Arya lunged forward and I side stepped before reengaging her.

I don't know how I did it.

I probably will never do it again. In fact, I know I will never do it again and it was only dumb luck that saw me through and, in the end that was the most humbling thing of all in this duel between the elf and I.

You see, as I spun to avoid a jab, I caught the flat of Arya's blade with my own blade. The force of the blow made her hand slip too far back to give her a good grip which then translated into 'lose my sword' because I hit her blade with the flat of my own. The move sent Arya's sword flying to the ground and silence fell.

Over.

I was breathing hard as I raised my sword to Arya's throat and I felt a little better when I saw that she too looked a little winded by our duel – not sweaty and panting like me of course but slightly winded. Meanwhile, little me was trying to comprehend what had just happened. I had won. By pure luck, of course but, still I had won. I had won a fair and honest duel with an elf on nothing but luck. How had I just done that? Arya looked like she was wondering the same thing.

I lowered my sword and resheathed it, my arm ached from the intensity of the fight and I felt in general felt like a wet, overcooked noodle. My stomach ached and I wondered if I had maybe overdone it. I had just come back from death's doorstep after all and engaging in heated duels was probably not the wisest of choices.

Meeting my gaze, Arya shook her head, "I've never been beaten by a human."

I smiled tiredly, "Doubt I can manage that again Arya Svit-kona." Arya just shrugged in response and we sheathed our swords, or in the case of Arya, picked up weapons and then sheathed them.

Fredrick, in his loud, rough, booming voice was the first to break the very uncomfortable silence that had fallen across the field. "Today has been the day of duels! Remember what you saw today lads! It is what we aim for!" With that he clapped me on the shoulder, the force of the blow nearly sent me face planting into the ground but I managed to regain my balance, and my breath, enough to speak.

"Thank you." I quickly moved out of back slapping zone and closer to Saphira who was both larger and not prone to back slapping. Arya cast me an amused glance and, without a word, began to walk through the lines of men and back towards the white marble city. The men parted for her as if she carried the plague and I walked over to Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira who were watching me silently. "Would you like to return?" I asked.

"Yes," said Eragon who looked about as worn out as I felt. Orik also joined us, though I suspected he would have much rather remained at the training fields with Fredrick then accompany his charges back to the city. As we walked city nothing was said. It was not an uncomfortable silence but rather a reflective one. Saphira and Eragon were obviously talking but privately and Murtagh was lost in his own thoughts. Arya, who was walking a few meters ahead of us, did not wait for us to catch up.

When we reached the gates, Orik said to Eragon, "My King wished to see you and Saphira later this afternoon. Would you agree to meet me at the central chamber in an hour?"

"Of course," said Eragon. Behind him Saphira nodded her great blue head. Orik nodded and then bade us good afternoon before he vanished into the crowd who were beginning to gather to admire Saphira.

Arya glanced at the sky before saying, "Till later." She vanished into the crowd that was beginning to form, cutting her way through the gathered group of dwarves and Varden with ease for all backed away from her.

Eragon glanced after her before turning to Murtagh and I. "I will see you two later?" he asked with a nervous glance at the crowd.

I nodded, "Yes."

Saphira lowered her head and met my gaze, _Would you meet us after our meeting with Hrothgar? I would like to speak with you. _

_Of course Saphira. _

With that Eragon clambered up on Saphira who promptly took flight. There were murmured words of awe among the humans in the crowd who began to disperse once the main attraction, Eragon and Saphira, were gone.

I wondered briefly where the child, Elva, was right now. She had yet to blessed/cursed by Eragon and Saphira and I wondered if she would. Was this another thing that by simply being here I had changed? Elva was so important and yet she was to live a cursed life that was far from happy. What would effects of not having her be? I sighed inwardly and hoped that a power greater then I would decide Elva's fate.

Murtagh interrupted my thoughts and said, "Would you walk with me? I would like to talk with you." Everybody seemed to want me to talk with them. My dance card was rapidly filling up.

I nodded and said, "Sure. Where to?" Inwardly I longed for a good bath. I was sweaty from the fight and, since waking up in the healing ward, I had not had a chance to wash my hair after the long miles on the road. I knew that I smelled pretty disgusting and my muscles ached. No, I longed for a good soak in hot water if only to ease away the aches and lingering weakness.

Murtagh looked a little relieved, "Back to the upper levels. Maybe we can find the library or some food."

With that we began to walk away from the massive front gates and up towards the top of the citadel. People made way for us, some openly stared and others seemed wary as if they were unsure what to think of us or how to react. No doubt word of our sparring had reached the city and it had only made us all the more interesting as well as strange to the Varden and dwarves.

I'm not sure how we ended up there and I doubt I could find it again, but our wanderings brought us to a quiet, secluded garden in a small circular courtyard. It was in the upper levels of Tronjheim, probably not far from the quarters that Arya had. The place had an untended, timeless feel to it. A small, tinkling fountain was in the center and flowers, small trees and other plants had been allowed to grow wherever they wanted to and in no particular order. A small bench underneath a flowering apple tree looked appealing and so we both silently took a seat. Neither of us wished to break the magical stillness of the garden and so we sat for a few silent, reflective minutes. Another garden, a little like this one, flashed across my eyes only adding to my peaceful mood and, so, when Murtagh spoke I did not immediately respond.

"Zoe," he said, "I have something I want to ask you."

"What?" I asked resting my chin on my hands.

"I…you've changed. Since you woke up you aren't the same. Why?"

I was so surprised that I turned to look at Murtagh who, for the first time I had known him, looked completely relaxed and completely at peace with both himself and his surroundings. The resemblance to his half-brother was quite striking then. When I found my voice I said, "What do you mean Murtagh?"

He was silent for a moment before saying, "You are different, not in a bad way but different. You seem stronger, more settled in yourself then you were before. You surprised everyone today from Ajihad to Brom to the Varden as a whole."

I sighed and said softly, "Oh Murtagh. It's so complicated and I had hoped that it was not even affecting me. You see Murtagh…" I bit my lip and paused before saying even softer, "I found out why I am here. Why I was sent to Alagaesia and it also changed…well it changed everything I thought I knew about myself. About…well who I really was and what I've done."

Murtagh said nothing, just quietly urged me on with his dark, hooded eyes. For the second time that day I explained just what Eomund had told me. Like Arya he was silent until the end and, like Arya, he did not demand anything of me or call me a liar. He just sat and looked at the tinkling fountain. I did nothing. I had nothing more to say and I was also thinking over what this meant both for me and for those around me. I would foolish to think that this would not change my relationship with Murtagh – a relationship that was getting increasingly more complicated.

At last he sighed and just shrugged. "I don't know what to say Zoe."

"It's alright Murtagh." I turned back to admiring the fountain and the garden. My peaceful mood was now tinged with sadness though I did not quite know why. What reaction had I thought these words would get? I turned slightly so that I was looking at Murtagh and our eyes met.

Then…well then Murtagh did something that was so shocking and so unexpected that I did not know what to do and I am not sure what anyone would do if it happened to them in such a situation. His hands, calloused and scarred, gently gripped my face and he bent his head so that we were eye to eye. "Promise me something Zoe," he murmured. I kept looking into those walled and hooded eyes and waited for him to continue. "Promise me that you will not let yourself become lost in what you think you must be now."

As I looked up into his face, I suddenly realized two things. One was that I would promise this to Murtagh because he was right. The second was that the last boy I had kissed was currently back on Earth and that had been the one and only kiss I could remember right now. Somehow, among thoughts of kissing and promises, I found my voice enough to say something reasonable. "I promise Murtagh." My voice was surprisingly level considering how I felt at that particular moment in time.

To my utmost relief, Murtagh dropped his hands and nodded, "Good."

Silence fell between us, awkward silence that went unbroken for many minutes until Murtagh said, "We should go. There is much to do and little time."

Yet he sounded as reluctant as I was to leave this little sanctuary in the middle of a city made of marble. I wondered how Arya managed to live here for any length of time. As an elf she would much rather be surrounded by nature then stone – I was beginning to feel the same way. For all its beauty Tronjheim was…too cold.

I nodded but made no move to rise from the little bench under the flowering apple tree. It was then that I noticed a particularly beautiful flower growing not far from the fountain. Reaching out I cupped the bloom in my hands and examined it. The flower was a deep gold color shot through with bright blue. As I looked and admired it a memory flashed across my eyes; I was sitting in a garden very much like this one and holding a flower that was the exact copy of the one I was holding in Alagaesia. However, I was no longer with Murtagh but instead a dark haired boy was sitting beside me. He was laughing and somehow I knew he was laughing at something I had said. My heart gave a painful lurch and, as quickly as it had come, the memory was gone.

Murtagh had not even noticed and I quickly dropped the flower before rising. I could not stay there. Not with that memory haunting my current thoughts. I wanted to run, to do something to take my mind off what I had seen and felt. Murtagh rose as well and we stood looking at each other.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I'm hungry so I might go searching for the kitchens and then go back to wait for Eragon and Saphira. What about you?"

I did not tell him I would do anything to get away from this place.

"I think I'll go to the library. I can seclude myself in there and no one will notice me."

With that we parted, Murtagh going one way and I the other. As I walked I wondered over the feelings I had gotten from Murtagh that day and the memory that had made me feel like someone had just sent a spike through my heart. I could not afford a relationship with Murtagh that was more than friendship. In the end, if that end came as it should, his heart would belong to Nasuada not me. Never me. I was someone who in the end would have to leave. I shook my head and kept walking.

Of all the lines to come to my head it was one from the Mortal Instrument Series. That collection of books I had been reading right before I had fallen into the pages of _Eragon_ in my old mother's rose garden. It was, 'to love is to destroy' and, in this case, it rang true. To feel anything more than sisterly affection for Murtagh was to destroy everything.

Why? I thought irritably, why me? Why this of all things?

Of course no one answered.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Revised on 116/2014**_

_**Hope you enjoyed!**_


	25. Chapter 25

Eragon and Saphira met Orik in the central chamber before following him down a new corridor. With his sword buckled at his hip and one hand on Saphira's side they followed the dwarf into Tronjheim. Ignoring stares from people within the soaring corridor Eragon asked, "Where will we meet Hrothgar?"

Without slowing his pace Orik said over his shoulder, "In the throne room beneath the city. It will be a privae audience as an act of otho – of 'faith.' You do not have address him in any special way, but speak to him respectfully. Hrothgar is quick to anger, but he is wise and sees keenly into the minds of men, so think carefully before you speak." Eragon nodded and retreated to his thoughts, wondering what awaited him in this particular audience.

The steps that they were walking down curved inward like a spiral until it faced the direction they had come from. The other stairway merged also curved downward to form a broad cascade of dimly lit steps that ended, after a hundred feet, before two granite doors. A seven-pointed crown was carved across both doors; the silver inlay sparkled dimly in the warm glow cast by the dwarvish lanterns.

Seven dwarves stood guard on each side of the portal. They held burnished mattocks and wore gem-encrusted belts. As Eragon, Orik and Saphira approached, the dwarves pounded the floor with the mattocks' halfts. A deep boom rolled back up the stairs. The doors swung inward and Eragon took a deep breath as he squared his shoulders and schooled his face into an impassive mask.

A dark hall lay before them, a good bowshot long. The throne room was a natural cave; the walls were lined with stalagmites and stalactites, each thicker than a man. Sparsely hung learns cast a moody light. The brown floor was smooth and polished. At the far end of the hall was a black throne with a motionless figure upon it.

Orik bowed. "The king awaits you."

Eragon put his hand on Saphira's side, and the two of them continued forward. The doors closed behind them, leaving them alone in the dim throne room with the king. Their footsteps echoed through the hall as they advanced toward the throne. In the recesses between the stalagmites and stalactites rested larger statues. Each sculpture depicted a dwarf king crowed and sitting on a throne; their sightless eyes gazed sternly into the distance, their lined faces set in fierce expressions. A name was chiseled in runes beneath each set of feet.

Eragon and Saphira strode solemnly between the two rows of long-dead monarchs. They passed more than forty statues. Then only dark and empty alcoves awaiting future kings. They stopped before the dwarf kind at the end of the hall.

Hrothgar himself was as still as any of the statues in the alcoves. The throne he sat upon was on a raised dais and carved from a single piece of black marble. It was simple, unadorned and cut with unyielding precision as if reminding those who gazed upon it of the duties of kings to their people. Strength emanated from it, like a reminder that the dwarves had ruled this land for far longer than humans or elves. A gold helm lined with rubies and diamonds rested on Hrothgar's head in place of a crown. His visage was grim, weathered and the experience of decades shone through his deep-set, flinty eyes. His white beard was tucked under his belt, and in his lap he held a mighty war hammer with the symbol of Orik's clan embossed on its head.

Eragon bowed his head slightly and Saphira remained upright, her glittering eyes never leaving the King. Stirring, as if awakening from a spell, the king rumbled, "As knurl deimi lanok. 'Beware the rock changes' – an old saying of ours…and nowadays the rock changes very fast indeed." He fingered the war hammer. "I could not meet with you earlier, as Ajihad did, because I was forced to deal with my enemies within the clans. They demanded that I deny you sanctuary and expel you. It has taken much work on my part to convince them otherwise."

"Thank you," said Eragon. "I didn't anticipate how much strife my arrival would cause."

The king accepted his thanks, then lifted a gnarled hand and pointed. "See there, Rider Eragon, where my predecessors sit upon their thrones. One and forty there are, with I the forty-second. When I pass from this world and into the care of the gods, I will join their ranks. For eight millennia – since the dawn of our race – dwarves have ruled under Farthen Dur. We are the bones of the land, older than both the fair elves and the savage dragons." Saphira shifted slightly and Eragon sent her soothing thoughts as Hrothgar continued.

"I am old human – even by our reckoning – old enough to remember the Riders. Now you sit before me. A relic from a forgotten age and much is expected from you. You have fled the Empire and come here. Now what will you do? War is coming to Farthen Dur. Will you stay or go? Who will you be?"

Eragon was silent for a long moment, gazing steadily into the ancient eyes of the king. His answer could not be rushed; it could not have a single flaw that the dwarf could exploit. In a steady, even voice, Eragon said, "Saphira and I will stay for the battle. It is our duty as Rider and dragon. After that I will journey to the elves for training. I have the strength to help those who need me and I shall to the best of my abilties. Saphira and I came to Farthen Dur to find sanctuary from our troubles but we shall not remain here, hiding from our destiny whatever it is."

The kind seemed satisfied by his answer. He turned to Saphira and asked, "Dragon, what think you in this matter? For what reason have you come?"

Saphira lifted the edge of her lip to growl. The sound echoed around the chamber and her tail flicked from side to side. _Tell him that I thirst for the blood of our enemies and eagerly await the say when we ride to battle against Galbatorix. And tell him that I think you ready for the task._

Withholding a grimace at the harsh words, he dutifully relayed them word for word. They seemed to amuse the king who shook his head ever so slightly. "Dragons have not changed in all the years I have known them. One last matter remains. I wish to know what you will do if Galbatorix falls and the Varden are victorious."

Once again, Eragon wondered at the king's motives. He had yet to think ahead to what would be awaiting him in Du Weldenvarden let alone what was waiting for him if he managed to climb the unclimable mountain and defeat Galbatorix. Knowing that, once again, Hrothgar had demanded an answer that was a solid as the black throne he sat on and as firm as the hammer in his lap, Eragon answered. "I want no crown nor would it be wise for a Rider to assume such a position. I will not take the throne."

With a nod of his head the king reached out a hand and said, "You carry a cursed sword Rider. Ajihad told me of this. It does not please me to see this weapon despite the skill with which it was crafted. May I examine it?"

Eragon drew his sword and presented it to the king who grasped it and ran a practiced eye over the red blade. The edge caught the lantern light and shadows flickered across the blade. With a nod he returned Zar'roc and said, "Despite my feelings for that sword it is still a masterful piece of workmanship. Perhaps you will forge it a new history but I would rather you did not carry it." Eragon resheathed the sword and the king nodded once before continuing, "My advisors wait for me as there are matters dealing with the upcoming battle I must deal with. I will say this, though: If you wish the support of the dwarves then you must prove yourself."

"I will remember your advice," said Eragon, inclining his head to the king.

Hrothgar nodded regally. "You may go."

Eragon turned with Saphira and they proceeded out of the hall and back into the entrance room. Orik was waiting for them on the other side of the stone doors looking about as nervous as Eragon had ever seen him. It amused the Rider a little to see the normally unflappable dwarf so concerned for him.

"Did all go well?" asked Orik tensely.

With a reassuring smile, Eragon said, "I think so. Your king is cautious."

"That is how he has survived this long." They began to follow Orik back up the steps and away from the king in his stone hall.

_He did not approve of me. _

_No,_ said Eragon, _but he is a dwarf after all. However, he did not make any outright slight against you. _

_That seemed to amuse Saphira. In that he is wise. He is not even knee-high to me. _

_Saphira! That is not funny!_

_Yes it is. _

_That is not very diplomatic of you. _

_Dragons are not diplomats. We leave that to humans and elves._ Eragon sighed in irritation and ignored Saphira's laughter as it flowed across their mental link. He could not help but share in her amusement despite his irritation.

They emerged into the brightly lit central chamber where, to Eragon's joy, Zoe was waiting for them. She was leaning against one of the pillars along the side of the wall and people skirted her nervously with the occasional "my lady" or polite nod. Zoe on the other hand looked bored and coolly amused by the reactions of those around her. When she saw them she smiled and unhitched herself from the tall, marble pillar. She made her way over, cutting a path through the people.

"Orik," she greeted the dwarf before nodding to Saphira and Eragon.

The dwarf inclined his head and left the three for whatever other duties awaited him. Zoe gestured upwards towards the Dragon Hold, "We should go soon. Or you'll be covered in admirers before you can say 'Rider.'"

There was a teasing note to her voice but Eragon groaned in response. He had yet to really deal with the Varden, mostly because the women and children would be leaving the next day in preparation for the upcoming battle and all attention was on that. Mounting Saphira, Eragon offered Zoe a hand up and the dragon took flight, soaring upwards through the city mountain. She landed on the giant gem and the two dismounted before following her inside the cave.

Saphira curled up on her cushion and Eragon and Zoe sat down beside her, leaning their backs against her warm side. For a long time there was silence until Zoe said, "How was it with Hrothgar?"

Eragon shrugged, "It went well enough. He does not approve of both Saphira and I but he will not go against us…I think."

"No. He can't to do that. You and Saphira are too important in the fight against Galbatorix. Hrothgar also knows that eventually the dwarves will have to face him and he would rather have you on his side. Maybe not close but close enough that he can call on your aid. He is too wise and crafty to discard a tool that could save his people one day."

Eragon digested her words before saying, "Will you come with us to the elves?" He watched his friend closely; she was not looking at him but at the far wall of the cavern. Her eyes were distant and clouded with thought.

Zoe played with a strand of her hair before saying, "Maybe. I would like to but I might need to stay here. It will depend a little on Murtagh as well. I don't fancy leaving him with the Varden for an extended period of time. Brom can only do so much as well and he may need my help."

Eragon nodded. He had also wondered about the fate of his older half-brother. So far no one had commented on Murtagh's parentage and Eragon was sure that was because of Brom and Arya. Eventually, however, the truth would come out and when it did…well Eragon was unsure what the consequences might be.

_Zoe_, said Saphira, _What will you do after the war? Hrothgar asked Eragon that question today and it has made me reflect on the future and what will happen to us. _

Zoe smiled slightly, "I'm not sure Saphira. I have a family to return to eventually but I have come to love Alagaesia. It will not be easy to leave here but I also want to return home. We'll see. There is much that could happen that may influence what I want from my future."

Eragon was about to speak when he heard the sounds of soft paws walking across the stone floor. Glancing up the young Rider saw the tawny, cat form of Solembum lazily pacing towards the three friends. The werecat stopped in front of Eragon and Zoe, in his lazy, rumbling voice he said, _Angela wants to see you Rider. _

"Angela? She's here?" asked Eragon confused. He glanced at Zoe but she did not look surprised or even questioning. She was just smiling at the cat and Solembum allowed the girl to stroke him behind his ears for a few moments before turning to look at Eragon again.

His mental voice took on a new tone of impatience, _Yes. Hurry up. You wouldn't want to be accused of being slow off the mark would you?._ With that Solembum began to walk away and back towards the enter the chamber. He conveyed bored impatience with the entire situation, his tail flicking from side to side with saucy relaxation.

"Go Eragon," said Zoe with a push. "An invitation to visit Angela is nothing to turn your nose up at."

Standing up, feeling confused Eragon asked, "But how is she even here? How do you know?"

"Go! Or Solembum won't wait any longer!" said the girl with a mischievous grin and, shaking his head in confusion, Eragon hurried after the werecat who had paused at the entrance waiting for the Rider before continuing on his tail waving gracefully from side to side.

* * *

><p>Murtagh sighed and turned another page in the dusty book he had chosen randomly from a shelf. His thoughts whirred as he tried to focus on the neat cursive in front of him. The book was called "The Preferred Guide to Battle" but Murtagh had yet to really pay any attention to the words and, so far, he could not remember any of the words in front of him. He had hoped that reading would help settle him and clear his thoughts but it had done nothing of the kind. In fact, it had only made him more frustrated with the world in general.<p>

Leaning back in the comfortable armchair in the secluded, deathly quiet corner of the library he had chosen for himself, Murtagh let out an irritated sigh. What was wrong with him? There was a stupid, bloody battle looming on the horizon. He was surrounded by potential enemies but, despite all that, his entire mind was filled with Zoe.

Zoe and more Zoe.

Zoe smiling at him. Zoe laughing at him. Zoe challenging his opinions on everything from the weather to Galbatorix. The terror he had felt in his heart when he had seen her lying seeming unconscious in a prison cell. Zoe beating him with a sword. In general: his mind was full of Zoe.

He had had one experience similar to this in his life. About three years ago he had fallen madly in love with the beautiful and witty daughter of a noble. Murtagh shook his head slightly in embarrassment. He could recall exactly what Tornac had told him when he had shown up with stars in his eyes and her name on his lips along with all her wonderful traits. The old swordsman had sat the young man down and told him, very firmly, that he had better get his head on straight and then he would see that this love was as fleeting as a butterfly.

Love, the old man had said, must be like a slow burning ember that can outlast the test of time. A passion that burns bright will die as quickly as it came. As usual he had been right and, within a few days, Murtagh no longer felt like throwing himself out of the nearest tower window just because she might ask it of him.

Murtagh let out another noisy sigh as he glared at the open book in front of him. His feelings were not as clear-cut as they had been when he had fancied that particular woman. No, whatever Zoe had done to him it was not something that Murtagh could easily explain or understand. Closing his eyes the young man tried to sort out exactly what he was feeling. There was nervous, giddy happiness mixed in with trepidation. However, the strongest emotion he felt was not what he had expected. He, a son of Morzan who had faced terrors uncounted, was frightened.

Fear coiled inside of him and he tried to ignore it.

He was frightened that Zoe would reject him, frightened that his love for her would mean an end to their friendship and, above all, frightened because there was a chance that he would lose her either in the upcoming battle or when she returned to her own home. Eventually he would lose her - just as he had lost everyone else in his life from his mother to Tornac.

No, thought Murtagh firmly, I cannot feel love for her. She can't stay; it will be just another disappointment in my life. Either one of us might die tomorrow… I can't put that burden on already has enough to deal with without adding my feelings to it.

A little voice spoke up from somewhere deep inside of him. But, it asked, isn't it better to love even for a short time then to die without experiencing that emotion? You have always wanted to feel loved and wanted. If we have a short time to live and be happy then why not be happy? Why not love? Why not?

Why not love her?

His thoughts were, rather rudely in Murtah's opinion, interrupted by a cool voice behind him. "Glaring at a book does not change what is written in it."

Whipping around, one hand going to his sword and the other the arm rest of the chair to act as a spring when he drew his sword, Murtagh saw a woman. She was one of the most striking women he had ever met. With caramel colored skin, big brown eyes that glittered with fierce intelligence and black hair that was braided up she could only be Ajihad's daughter, Nasuada. She was wearing a dress of rich red that had been embroidered with golden scroll work along the hem and a belt of interlocking gold loops showed off her slim waist. In truth she was very beautiful but Murtagh ignored it and gazed at her eyes steadily – he had learned long ago that beauty could hide many things. Ajihad's daughter was no pawn and no fool if what he had heard was true.

"I am sorry to have startled you," she said gesturing at his hand which was still gripping the hilt of his sword. Her smile was a little apologetic as she half sat on a carved table laden with dusty volumes; all the while those very innocent deep brown eyes were on Murtagh as if he was an interesting puzzle. "I was just passing through the library when I saw you and I wanted to introduce myself." Her voice was conversational, friendly even.

Murtagh watched her silently; he doubted very much that she had only been passing through. No…no this was not a chance encounter and, with her exact motives still unknown, he said carefully and very diplomatically. "I do not believe we have ever met my lady."

Her smile grew brighter, "I am Nasuada daughter of Ajihad. I have heard of you and your adventures with Rider Eragon."

The longer Murtagh spent with her the more he felt there was something strange about her friendliness as if she hoped to win his trust with her openness. When, in fact, it was that openness and easiness that alerted Murtagh to the possibility that she was really hiding her true motives. He had grown up with people who played the same game and so, feeling trapped by Nasuarda, Murtagh rose and said smoothly. "I am sorry not that I cannot spend more time with you my lady but I promised to meet my friend, Zoe. I hope to be able to continue our conversation another time."

Watching her he saw the slight narrow of Nasuada's eyes he smiled inwardly. So he was right, this was not some simple conversation and he had just irritated the woman in front of him with his refusal to continue her game of twisted words. Before she could say anything Murtagh turned and quickly placed the book back on its shelf before making his way from the library. He had just beaten a hasty retreat but he did not mind. No, he had always hated things like that and better to retreat.

Murtagh glared out a window that overlooked the city. He was annoyed not only with Nasuada but because he had yet to really sort out his feelings for Zoe. Not only that but he had just been ousted from his refuge and it irked him to be back out in these far to open marble corridors where people stared at him curiously as if he was some sort of circus act. The last place he could think of was a good climb above him but Murtagh wanted the exercise and the promise of avoiding people who, he was sure, would not hesitate to kill him if they knew the truth about his parentage.

When he reached the main chamber Murtagh took the stairs that stretched endlessly upwards all the way to the star jewel far above. His brother would be there along with Saphira and…Zoe.

His steps unconsciously quickened as he made his way through the numerous levels of the city on his way to the dragon hold.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Revised: 117/2014**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**Booklover19: You beat me to the previous chapter! If you go back you will see the new revised one posted today just after you read it. No worries if you don't want to! This chapter has been lightly changed but is basically original. Any chance I could PM you? I am just not sure you have an account on FF...thank you for spending the time going through this story! As I plow through Departmental exams your reviews make me smile! I don't have very much time for writing but what I do I try to spend either on this story or my other one. Have an awesome one and thank you again! luckyponygirl**_


	26. To War We Go

I was up just as the grey light of dawn began to filter into the cavernous hollow mountain.

I had been given one of the rooms in Arya's apartments. It was a spacious, but simply decorated room, with a lovely view of the white marble city. Bathed and dressed with a good night's sleep under my belt it was hard to feel too grim about things. The previous day's afternoon had been a peaceful one spent with Murtagh and Saphira and then Eragon when he returned from his visit with Angela. It had not been awkward in the slightest, but rather like the times we used to share before Gil'ead. We had talked of easy things and laughed over bad jokes. Ah, how I wished I could have paused time right there and then for these quiet moments were rare. I wanted to treasure them forever for - of course - I might never get to experience them again.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts I could not help but wonder how long until the battle began. Was this my last day of rest and preparation?

I sighed and finished buckling my arm braces on, braided my hair back and moved towards the door. I was nearly at the door, already thinking of where I could wander, when I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar face. I stopped, surprised, and realized that I was staring into a mirror and that there was not someone in my room.

Have you ever gone months without seeing a clear reflection of your face? Have you lost your identity and been told to replace it with another? Have you come face to face with a face that you do not recognize but is, in fact, yours?

I moved closer to the mirror and stared at the perfectly clear reflection that stared back at me. Unconsciously one hand rose and touched the smooth surface; the girl in the mirror copied the action. But how could the girl in the mirror be me? How could this beautiful, high cheekbone face with no trace of lingering child roundness and innocence be my own? Looking back at me was not a girl on the very edge of adulthood but still clinging tightly to last vestiges of her childhood. This was a young woman with eyes shuttered and closed, a slender figure and a proud look to her. Her hair had lost streaks of red and lighter brown and was now a deep, rich dark mahogany that was nearly black. This girl had no splattering of freckles across her nose nor did she have that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlight look to her or any softness to her jaw. Her battle with poison and illness had given her a slightly starved appearance, a slightly too thin face with a haunted set to her mouth.

What had happened to the girl who would drop her eyes? Who let her hair grow long so she could cover her face and who hated her nose because it was too big?

The face that looked back at me was cool and proud. It was the face of a young woman, grown and sure of herself who had seen the world. It was very similar to the face of the woman I had seen in the throne room standing behind the King. This was me. This was the Zoe that traveled in the company of a dragon and her Rider, had fought and killed, been imprisoned, survived a lethal poison and was unlocking her blocked memories.

I dropped my hand from the mirror and stared into my reflection.

This was a Crown Princess and this was me.

There was something very final about seeing my face and staring to my eyes. I had changed, grown and remembered. It showed. It showed upon my face and it was such a change that I could not fully grasp it right then.

Turning away, unable to continue examining myself, I left the room and walked back out into the main room. Arya's door was closed but Murtagh's was open suggesting that he had already left. Feeling restless I left the rooms and began to wander down the hallways of the city not really going anywhere.

At last, after wandering through many empty corridors and gardens, I found myself standing on an open balcony that overlooked the central chamber. I had seen no one on my walk and I wondered if the Varden's women and children had already left in preparation for the upcoming battle. I vaguely remembered Arya telling me something of the sort and it would make sense that they would leave now along with the dwarves who would not be fighting. I glanced up at the shimmering rose jewel and wondered if Eragon was awake yet and whether or not I should I contact him mentally.

My musings were interrupted when I heard the soft sounds of someone walking not far away. Keeping myself relaxed I turned and saw a dark-skinned, black-haired woman walking towards me from the opposite direction. She was reading some papers as she walked. There was only one person she could be: Nasuada daughter of Ajihad. Perhaps, if things went as I had read they would, this would be the next leader of this entire army. Her face, while furrowed in concentration, was proud and striking but there was something...something almost bitter about her. A kind of bitterness as if this striking Lady longed for another life and yet had been stifled her entire life and forced to remain in the shadows while others claimed glory for themselves. A bright red apple, appearing shiny and at the full bloom on first glance but in reality it was rotten at the core.

Nasuada did not notice me until she was a few feet away and, when she did, she stopped dead and one hand went immediately to the jeweled dagger hanging decoratively at her side. I could not help but smile, amused at the thought of a small ceremonial dagger challenging my own sword. It would be a fight to remember.

Keeping my smile I said, "Good morning."

Nasuada recovered herself and said, "Good morning. I do not believe we have met my lady."

"No," I said, "but my name is Zoe and you must be the Lady Nasuada."

Her eyes widened slightly but she nodded and moved a little closer, shifting the papers in her hands and said, "Of course. It is an honor to meet you."

I just smiled slightly and asked, "The city seems quiet this morning?"

"Yes," agreed Nasuada, "many have already left for the valleys close by until the upcoming battle is decided. They are accompanied by a few warriors but not enough to offer any kind of protection if the Urgals did move to attack them."

Turning back to look out over the empty chamber I asked, "Will you go?" I already knew her feelings on the matter but I wanted to hear the words spoken by her. I did not want to be left to my nervous mind which was conjuring up images of Urgals, blood, fighting and, above all, death. Death upon death and more death.

Nasuada bit her lip and moved closer until she was standing beside me. "I do not wish to go but my father wants me to."

I raised an eyebrow and met her hard eyes, "So? Will you obey your father or the desires of your heart?"

Looking away from me, Nasuada ran a hand along the smooth stone of the balcony while the other pressed the papers tightly against her chest, making them crinkle. "I do not know. You are lucky my lady," she paused and looked at me closely as if to pull answers out of me. "No one would demand you leave. You have earned both my father and the Varden's respect. You can stay and fight for those you care about while I am must be safely sent away."

I heard the note of bitterness mixed with anger. It confirmed by suspicions. The Lady of the Varden was desperate to prove herself, not only to her father but to the people she considered her own. We were similar, the two of us, in our wish to fight for those we cared for but very different to. She was more courageous then I and more sure of what she wanted in this world.

I sighed and looked away from the woman beside me, "There is no shame in not fighting Nasuada. No shame at all. Yet I know where you are coming from. I too had to struggle against those who felt that a woman's place was at home and not on the battle field." Nasuada opened her mouth to speak but I shook my head and continued, "Know this my lady, if you feel that your reasons for fighting are just then I encourage you to act on them. If you are skilled enough to protect not only yourself but those you fit for then remain. However, if your reasons are founded on pride and the desire to prove yourself then you would be more useful helping the women and children who will be losing loved ones in this battle."

Silence fell between us and Nasuarda refused to meet my gaze. When she spoke again her words had a hard edge to them though they were still polite. "Your words are true my lady and I will consider them but…" here she paused again and I wondered if she was blushing. There was a faint color in her cheeks that could only mean she felt squeamish about something, but what could it be? "Did Lord Murtagh tell you that I spoke with him yesterday?"

It was such a non-sequitur that I blinked in surprise before saying, "No. No he didn't. Why? What did he say?" I inwardly groaned at the thought that Murtagh had said something completely inappropriate to the daughter of Ajihad because he was in a bad mood

"My father bid me to speak with him in the hopes that he would feel more welcomed by the Varden but I fear that I may have made him feel as if I was trying to discover more than I really was. He mentioned that he was to meet you and I merely wondered if he mentioned our conversation. I would ask you whether or not I should apologize to him."

I had to restrain myself from snorting in amusement. Apologize to Murtagh? Ah, that would be interesting but I did not say that. Instead, I shrugged and said, "Murtagh is wary and I would not take it personally. Added natural mistrust is worry for the upcoming battle. You can apologize to him if you want and see what he does. He is kind under the surface and loyal to the end. As for him not mentioning your conversation...it is not surprising. We had other things to speak of and Murtagh may not have wanted to discuss it with Eragon, Saphira and I."

Nasuada nodded and then said, "I must go. My father needs my assistance."

"One more thing," I said before she could leave. "If you do stay for this battle then find me. I would like to know your choice one way or the other."

"Why?" asked Nasuada. "You wouldn't tell my father would you?"

I laughed lightly at the suspicion in her voice and the slight narrowing of her eyes as she gazed at me. "No, I mean nothing of the kind. I ask that of you because this is going to be your first battle and I would rather know to keep an eye out for you before the battle begins than halfway through it!" My smile disarmed the last of her defenses and she gave me a true smile, the tense worry in her face easing a little as she relaxed.

"Ah," she said, "I will let you know."

With that she left and I turned back to look over the central chamber. My heart fluttered uneasily in my chest as I considered what was waiting in my future. Gripping the hilt of my sword tightly I left the balcony and retraced my steps to my room. Perhaps I could discover where breakfast was not that I really felt like eating. Or, even better, I could go visit my poor mare. I had neglected her these last few weeks and I could only hope she would find it in her heart to forgive me. My steps speeding up I asked a passing dwarf for directions and made my way to the stables. A day spent with my horse was a day well spent in my books.

* * *

><p>Brom stopped in front of an open window that overlooked the entire city. The women and children had gone early that morning and the dwarves were currently preparing for the battle. Windows were being barred, traps were being set down tunnels and the first few streets, walls and gates were being fortified and warriors readied. I am old, thought Brom as he regarded the unfolding scene before him, and I have seen many things but this battle will be the start of something I have never seen or planned on seeing. This battle will be the first of many.<p>

Sighing the man dropped his head and took a few steadying breaths. War was the only way – they had exhausted all other paths. This he knew but he despised it. He hated the thought of sending his only son into the all-out carnage of battle and, yet, he must for his son was now a Rider. For good or ill Eragon was a crucial part of the upcoming storm. It was for his sake that so many would die and sacrifice not only themselves but their families. How he wished, as a father, that he had never gone to Carvahall and that his son would never have been forced to raise a sword. As a father he had failed in the most basic of ways - to keep his son safe.

Trying to clear his mind of the poisonous thoughts Brom turned and began to walk down the empty, white marble corridor. The hours of idleness leading up to a battle were the worst and the old storyteller knew that all too well. With nowhere to be, no one to see and nowhere in particular he should go, Brom chose the only place he was certain he would not be disturbed: the library.

He could lose himself in the words of some old tome in a quiet corner of the library and leave the dealings of the Varden to its current leader. It was times like this that he was glad he had refused to continue leading the organization and times like this that he wished they had never needed to begin it. He wished that Zoe had come before the Fall, had stopped Galbatorix long before he began his vicious path of revenge that left the land saturated in blood and rage.

Brom could hear the sounds already and smell the hot blood and smoke.

A shiver raced down his spine.

Soon.

Too soon and, yet, not soon enough.

* * *

><p>Saphira woke Eragon with a sharp rap of her snout, bruising him with her hard jaw.<p>

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. The cave was dark except for the faint glow emanating from the shuttered lantern.

_Zoe has just sent for us. We are to meet them in them in Ajihad's study. Orik is waiting for us. _

_Did she say anything else?_ asked Eragon as he rubbed the bruise on his forehead. Talk about rude awakening, he thought irritably as he forced his body up.

_Just that you should come armed and that the time for battle is almost upon us. _

Understanding immediately, Eragon leapt to his feet as all thoughts of irritation and sleep vanished from him. As quickly as he could he dressed and belted his sword on as well as his bow and quiver. He could not help the yawn that escaped him as Saphira launched herself from the cave and spiraled down to the central chamber where Orik, tapping his ax anxiously against the marble floor, was waiting for them. The dwarf looked tense and his craggy face was fixed in a dark frown.

"Come, the others are waiting."

He led them through Tronjheim to Ajihad's study. Nothing was said between the three, they knew what would be discussed in the study and what it would mean and they saw no reason to speak of it unnecessarily.

The large study door was opened by a pair of burly guards who, like always, made no sign of acknowledgement as the three passed inside. Ajihad stood behind his desk, bleakly inspecting a map with Brom. Arya and a man with wiry arms were there as well, both armed and looking grim faced. Both Zoe and Murtagh were standing beside them looking equally grim and Zoe, her face still bearing signs of her long illness, was looking particularly worn and haunted.

Ajihad looked up as they entered. "Good, you're here, Eragon. Meet Jörmundur, my second in command."

They acknowledged each other and Zoe gave him a warm smile that faltered in the chilly, tense air of the study but then all attention was turned back to Ajihad. The silence in the room was oppressive.

The man, leaning heavily against the desk, spoke in a low monotone. "A dwarven sentry has just returned from scouting. He was injured but he was able to tell us that an army of Urgals was on its way here. It is maybe a day's march away but no less. We have been preparing for this but we did not know exactly when or how they would come."

Jörmunder swore under his breath but everyone else was silent as they watched the man at the desk. Ajihad continued, gesturing at the map as he continued to explain. "The Urgals are not approaching over land but under it. They're in the tunnels...we're going to be attacked from below."

Again silence met Ajihad's words but it was broken by Zoe. "Then we should prepare for them." Her voice was firm and she seemed the only one not frozen in place by the information that had just been delivered with such finality by Ajihad. Moving forward, the girl traced a finger along a line that represented a tunnel, "If we force them to surface in a few locations then we can more easily contain them and prevent them from entering the city by breaking the floor. Do you have an estimate on their numbers?"

Ajihad looked at her carefully. "No," he said at last. "I am not even sure that there are troops with them or not. If Galbatorix has augmented the Urgals' ranks with his own men, then we don't stand a chance. But if hasn't then we might be able to succeed. We are alone in this battle with no reinforcements either from other dwarf cities, Orrin or from the elves. As for the battle plan, you are correct, my lady. We are going to collapse select tunnels but the task is too big for normal means. Two groups of dwarves are already working on it: one outside Tronjheim, the other beneath it. Eragon you are to work with the group outside. Arya, you'll be with the one underground; Orik will guide you to them."

Eragon nodded in understanding and with that he, Arya and Saphira left the study with Orik. He did not glance back though he could feel Brom's heavy gaze upon him. Before the battle began he would have to speak with his father but not then. Eragon was unsure what to say or if anything should be said.

Sighing, the young Rider wondered what was going to happen now. The fate of the entire Varden rested on them now. Neither the elves nor Surda could come to their aid now. No, they were alone in this fight and Eragon was painfully aware of how small their forces were. This would be a hard battle and, even worse, it would be his first. The very idea sent stabs of fear into his chest. He had never had the chance to anticipate a fight before and now that he did, it filled him with cold dread.

One hand automatically came up and rested against Saphira's warm side as they moved through the echoing halls.

_We are alone, Saphira._

_Never alone, _she replied, _we are never alone. _

* * *

><p>When Eragon and the others left, Ajihad turned to look at Jörmunder and Murtagh who waited at attention for orders. "Jörmunder, ready the men to fight. Murtagh you know your own skills best but perhaps you can assist in outfitting the men for battle?"<p>

Murtagh gave a short, brisk nod and said, "I can assist in that."

Ajihad waved a hand and said, "Then go."

With that the two left thought Murtagh glanced back at me briefly before following Jörmunder out of the room. I turned back and met the steely gaze of the man in front of me. Brom stood silently beside Ajihad and I wondered what his thoughts were. His face was set in a grim mask that betrayed nothing. Only the way his eyes had lingered on Eragon and Saphira as they left had given me any indication of how worried he truly was for the Rider.

In a soft, dangerous voice Ajihad snapped me back to the present. "Is there anything you will tell me about this battle or will you send us into it with nothing but blind faith?"

I sighed but controlled my irritation for Ajihad's words were justified and, already, I could see that he was planning his people's final funeral. He did not expect to live through the next night. He did not expect many of his men, if any of them, to live to the following evening and it was tearing at him just as it would tear at any other commander.

"What can I tell you?" I asked gently. "From what I know there are no troops with the Urgals. I suspect that Durza will be involved in this fight." I looked down at the map, "I also suspect that, if he can be destroyed, then Urgal forces will splinter without the aid of the Shade's magic to hold them together. If I know anything of the Shade then I would say that Durza will not lead the charge for it is not his favored style of fighting but rather come when the Varden has been weakened by the Urgals."

_When Eragon has been weakened and he can capture the Rider and dragon easily and with little effort. He shall wait till then. He shall wait until our men have spent themselves and there is no one strong enough to stand between him and his prize. You know this Ajihad. You know this and you do not need me to tell you. _

Ajihad's gaze softened a little and he turned back to the map. "You agree with the plan then?"

I shrugged and said, "I can see no other options. You cannot let the Urgals break into the city but neither do you have enough men to guard the entire perimeter. The only thing I suggest is to plant traps at the entrance of each tunnel in the hopes you can kill as many without killing your own men in open combat."

Ajihad was watching me curiously, "You have fought in a battle before."

I grimaced as memories skirted through my head briefly and too quickly for me to clearly see them. My words purposely vague I said simply, "I have fought enough and spent a great deal of time with those who have."

Brom's eyes opened a little in surprise and I wondered how long it would be before he demanded an explanation. Not long, I thought wryly. That old man hated people keeping secrets from him despite the number he kept.

Ajihad just nodded and said, "Where do you feel you would be most useful?"

"I will join Murtagh." After a curt dismissive nod, I left the room and began to walk down the empty corridors that seemed to emit a faint chill. The coldness made me shiver and my footsteps unconsciously quickened. Murtagh would be in the armory fitting men and I needed something to do or I would lose my mind completely.

I was at the end of the corridor when, to my utmost surprise, an arm suddenly reached out and grabbed my upper arm, yanking me into an empty study. I struggled but a familiar voice said, "Stop! It's me!"

I did stop – more like froze – and stared at the hooded figure as I searched for some distinctive feature to confirm that it was who I thought it was. The figure, after a brief moment of hesitation, pushed the hood of the cloak back a little to reveal the dark skin and brown eyes of…Nasuada.

"What do you think you are doing?" I demanded. I was furious that I had just been grabbed and yanked into a dusty, unused study by this girl. Well…perhaps I should call her 'young woman' but I was hardly impressed by this attempt at secrecy.

"Shhh!" whispered Nasuada glancing at the door as if she feared her father was going to be bursting in any moment in the next few. "You asked me to tell me if I would stay and I will."

"Right," I said my anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. "Well, thank you for telling me. Where will you be posted?"

Her hands twisted nervously before her, "With the archers."

I nodded and glanced at the window and noticed men beginning to gather at the front gates of the city mountain. "That is safe enough for your first battle, I suppose." She gave a weak smile and, meeting her gaze I said with a gesture towards the window, "I need to go and so do you."

I tried to smile a little but failed. Smiling just does not work when you are in these sorts of situations so, instead, I gave her half embrace and left the room before hurrying down the corridors toward the armory which was located beside the main gates of the city.

I found Murtagh using a piece of string to measure men and fit them with the correct sized weapons and armor. He glanced up briefly when I entered and asked, "What did he want?"

"Just to ask if there was anything I could add to what was already said." I took a half-seat on the edge of a table laden with swords.

"And?" asked Murtagh as he passed the man he had been assisting a spear and then gestured at the next one in line.

I shrugged, "I couldn't add much. What happens in this battle is beyond my control."

_Not that any of it really is in my control, Murtagh. I just like to pretend it is because pretending such things is easier then saying they are so out of my control that I don't know what to do. _

Murtagh nodded and directed the man before him towards a row of shields and plate armor. "Want to help?"

"Love to," I said and gratefully accepted a piece of string from Murtagh.

Before long any chance at having a conversation with Murtagh was lost as we found the Varden's soldiers their weapons and armor. I also spoke with many of them for they seemed kind and honest. Meeting them and speaking with them made my heart ache for, of course, many these men would not survive the following day. Not only that but many of them were married and spoke proudly of their children, their eyes glinting with fatherly pride when I inquired. My memories had returned enough for me to remember similar conversations with men in my father's and then my brother's army. Many of those men had been similar to the ones who came to me for the weapons now. I almost felt as if I had been transported back to those times when it had been not been Murtagh helping match weapons and armor but Eomund or Pethred or one of my cousins. What would dear brothers have said if they could see me now? What would they have said? Or any one of the many lords and advisors I had dealt with back home?

I don't know what they would have said.

I did not remember enough to know and that hurt worst of all.

At long last, after many hours of constant motion back and forth through the tent, the lines of warriors ceased and I was able to sit down on a now emptied table. Murtagh joined me and we sat in silence, both forced to remember what we were preparing for. The constant motion had eased the worry and now it came back full force.

I glanced around and saw a number of dwarves gathering at the entrance to Tronjheim. They were dressed in heavy battle gear with burnished steel hauberks, thick round shields, stamped with the crests of their clan and short swords at their waists. In their hands they carried mattocks or war axes, heavy things that made me cringe slightly just to look at them. There was no grace in the way a dwarf fought only brute strength and heavy swings.

It works and that is the only thing that matters in the end.

You just have to get through it. Heroic deeds and all that is usually the last thing in your mind because those deeply ingrained survival instincts come out full force. You are not thinking of saving the day or being sung of in songs but, instead, of living to see the dawn and taking another breath, allowing you heart to beat for a little longer.

Suddenly Murtagh spoke, "I suppose we should get ourselves ready." His words hung in the air and seemed to echo through the now empty room.

Neither of us wanted to move. Neither of us wanted to act or come any close to what was coming but we had no choice.

"Yes." I said but made no move to leave. Summoning the shreds of my pitiful courage I stood and said, "I'm going to go find something to eat and then try and find some armor. I suppose I'll also have to go get Melynlas to." My words seemed to break the spell that had settled over the two of us.

"Good idea," said Murtagh and with that we separated with Murtagh going back to the rooms we shared with Arya for his weapons and me going off to locate some armor that would actually fit.

I found it quite by accident and only because of Orik. I had paused to speak with Eragon and Saphira who had just finished collapsing the last of tunnels and mentioned my need for proper fighting gear. Orik had smiled and said, "Don't you worry about that girl. King Hrothgar has had his treasury searched for suitable armor for both you and Eragon. Along with human armor we discovered a full set of dragon armor which is exceedingly rare." The dwarf was clad like his kin and his own war ax was strapped across his back.

Saphira had been more than exceedingly pleased to hear that and even more pleased when she saw the armor. It was silver with golden scroll work along the edges and, after a great deal of swearing, tugging and pulling the three of us managed to get it all on her. I will admit: a dragon in armor is more terrifying then they have any right to be.

The armor protected Saphira from the tip of her nose to very tip of her tail. It had been designed so that Saphira had full range of motion but it would still protect her softer underbelly and sides from the jagged weapons that the Urgal's wielded.

_Well?_ she asked. _How do I look?_

"Terrifying," I said sincerely. "Truly terrifying. I would hate to be on the wrong side of you Saphira." This made her give a rather large, toothy dragon smile which fully exposed all her shining white and very large teeth. I winced.

"So would I," said Orik under his breath. I smiled in amusement and shared a glance with Eragon who looked like he was struggling not to laugh but managed to cover it with a few well-placed coughs.

"I didn't know they made armor for dragons," said Eragon.

"Full sets are rare because dragons keep growing," explained Orik. "This set has languished in the treasury for centuries but it will serve you well Saphira, or at least until you outgrow it. But at least it fits you now, can't have you going into battle unprotected!" With that the dwarf clapped his hands and turned to the smaller piles of metal that had been brought with the dragon armor. "These are for you two. Hrothgar knew that both of you would need to be suitably outfitted for the battle and so these were found."

I moved forward curiously, "Why would Hrothgar send armor for me?" I asked. "We haven't even met."

"Ah," said Orik with a mysterious smile, "but he has heard of you and I wouldn't be surprised if Brom informed him of your need as well. You have become rather famous among the Varden, Zoe, and even the dwarves speak of you."

I colored slightly in embarrassment as Eragon elbowed me in the ribs. In a teasing voice he said, "Famous Zoe? You?"

I elbowed him right back and muttered, "You're not one to talk Rider."

He just shook his head and began to examine his new armor. My own was simple in design and surprisingly light all considering. It was made out of unpolished metal that had little design on it - just the way I wanted my armor to be. I held it up so I could examine it and I could not help but wonder whether or not I wanted to wear the whole sha-bang. It would be very heavy by the end of the battle no matter how light it felt now and, from the faint memories I could recall, I had never liked fighting in all out armor. No, I would wear the basic parts like the shoulder guards and thin, leather backed mail shirt but leave the chest plate, greaves and the helm. Heavy battle gear would only hinder me as the fight dragged on.

I am only girl after all and I can only cart around so much.

I slipped my black leather over shirt off and unbuckled my arm braces as I donned the mail shirt which fell to mid-thigh over that went my leather over shirt/jacket design that I had had since arriving in Alagaesia and then my braces, the shoulder guards and then my weapons. I had collected a few knives as well from the armory. One went up my arm bracer, another in my boot and a third was slipped in my belt in easy reach. With my weapons firmly strapped on, a green cloak fastened over my shoulders and my light armor, I felt ready for what was to come. The comforting weight of my hunting horn at my hip made me feel slightly better.

When I say I felt ready for what was to come….well to be honest I am not. I will never be ready but time was running out and we were speeding onwards.

Once I was ready I looked over at Eragon. His armor was bright with a gold and silver helm, leather backed mail and then a broad shield emblazoned with an oak tree. He gave me a tense smile and said, "Well? Did I put it on right?" I appreciated his attempts at levity, at finding something worth smiling about right then.

"I suppose so," I said rolling my eyes as I played along with it. "But only because of Orik."

The dwarf gave a hearty chuckled as he gathered up the remains of my armor and sent them off with another dwarf. Eragon gave Orik a small bow and said, "Thank you for these gifts. They could not come at a better time."

"Indeed," I said gratefully. "I did not relish the idea of going into battle with nothing on!"

"Wait till it saves your life," said Orik with a small smile. "Then you can say thank-you." With that he left to oversee his kinsmen in the fortifications being built for the archers. Groups of armed men were already preparing the traps that would be set around the entrances of the tunnels were the Urgals would be forced up.

It was then that Murtagh appeared. He was dressed in plain, Varden armor and was leading two horses. One was Tornac and the other was Melynlas. My mare was saddled and bridled. She was sporting a thin plate of armor across her broad forehead which continued down to her nose. It would offer a little protection to my brave mare. I smiled and gratefully accepted the reins from Murtagh. "Thank you," I said. He nodded and greeted Eragon and Saphira before saying.

"I met Brom and he informed me that Ajihad is looking for you Eragon, Saphira. He is over by the main gates."

"Right," said Eragon before heading off with Saphira. I glanced around, looking for a familiar face but finding only the grim faces of the warriors and dwarves.

Murtagh shook his head and said, "I don't know if we're going to survive this Zoe."

"Don't say that!" I snapped. "We will, we have to Murtagh. Now come on. I want to find out where we are supposed to go." With that I led my mare with Murtagh trailing behind over towards where Ajihad was rumored to be. I met him and Brom halfway there.

"Zoe," said Brom with a grim smile. "Murtagh. We were just looking for you."

"Yes," said Ajihad. "Eragon has informed me that you, Zoe and you, Murtagh, are able to communicate through your minds. During this battle that skill will be of key importance and so we have created a system where Brom will direct you from inside Tronjheim. He will send you where you are most needed or warn you if he feels you need it."

We both nodded in understanding and I breathed a small sigh of relief. At least I did not have to worry about Brom in this fight.

Brom began to speak, "The two of you will be with Eragon at the third tunnel under Jörmunder's command. Arya will also join you."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"No," said Ajihad, "Only to thank the two of you for your assistance."

Murtagh inclined his head and said, "Speak not of it, my lord."

I nodded and said, "Indeed. Much relies on this battle and the Varden will have to survive this. This battle will decide the fate of many things."

Ajihad nodded and Brom said grimly, "Yes. We will have to survive this. We must."

I wondered at his choice of words, so similar were they to the ones I had spoken to Murtagh only a few minutes before. With that the two left and Murtagh and I made our way over to where we could see Saphira crouched. Eragon was sitting beside her and Arya was not too far away along with Orik. My heart was a little lighter to see them and to know that at least a few friends would be beside me in this.

I took a seat by Saphira, holding Melynlas as I waited. The men gradually took their places and silence fell over Farthen Dur broken only by the occasional whinny of a horse, the crackle of flames or the sound of wetstone against steel. No one spoke.

A memory drifted across my vision…

_I was standing in front of a brightly colored tent in the middle of a forest of tents. Soldiers, horses, carts and the occasional dwarf passed in front of me but I paid them no mind. A gentle hand reached out and gripped my shoulder, turning me to face my younger sister, Lucia. Her face was worn, dark shadows under eyes belied her weariness and her simple dress was stained with blood, dirt and who knows what else. She had been in the healing tent and her face bore the sadness that came from watching too many slip away as you held their hand and told them to think of bright, good things as their life drained away. _

_"It will be alright Zoe. Just keep the faith." _

_I shook my head and Lucia's hand tightened on my shoulder. "How can it be alright Lu? How? Father is dead, Pethred does not believe he can lead an army and Eomund has already lost hope. He is right. We cannot win this war. We cannot!" My voice – too low for the soldiers walking past to hear – shook with emotion. _

_Lucia shook her head firmly, "Have you forgotten your vows as a daughter of Angard? You swore never to give up and above all to never give up hope! We are their last chance. We cannot give up. Ever!"_

_I gazed at her, hopelessness drowning out any feeling of hope. Lucia saw this and suddenly she raised both hands to my face, gripping it tightly and her voice shook with its intensity. "We can do it Zoe. We can so believe in it. Believe in the men and above all in you. Pethred is strong and he will lead as will Eomund. A bright new dawn will come again and there will be no need for war or death…" _

My vision cleared and I was left staring at the dark, gaping mouth of the tunnel with a line of sharpened stakes in front of it. I longed for my sister, for my brothers for my home. It was an overwhelming feeling and it took all my strength, all my will power, to force it away.

I was here.

I was in Alagaesia and that was how it would be for a while yet. I had friends here who I loved deeply and who I would die to save and, in time, I would go home. I would and there was no point getting lost in home-sickness for a place that I was only beginning to remember. But it was hard to think like that in the still silence of the battle field that became increasing hot and oppressive. It was hard to not give into my feelings of homesickness and self-doubt.

I could not sleep like Eragon or Murtagh or many of the other men. Instead I remained perfectly alert along with Arya and Saphira. Melynlas also remained very still expect for the occasional swish of her tail as she batted away an annoying fly. I almost wanted to talk with Arya or Saphira or even Orik but, at the same time, I did not and so I was left staring at the tunnel along with every man in this company of warriors. Time seemed to have slowed and even breathing in the hot, heavy air seemed to slow.

The occasional movement or suspicious sound would send a few warriors to their feet but it always proved false and sent them back to their positions. Apart from these brief moments nothing happened. Nothing and that was the worst part. The waiting is always the worst, the wondering if you should be treasuring each and every breath you take because it might be your last. They say knowledge is power but, in the time before battle begins – the time between preparation and the actually fighting – knowledge is a curse.

At last, at long last, a dwarven scout ran out of the tunnel.

He did not need to say anything for his very presence and bloody axe was enough. Knowing what was happening I surged to my feet as Saphira and Arya woke the others. I paused before mounting my mare, feeling the need to prepare her for what was coming while everyone around me readied themselves and their weapons for coming carnage. Already I could hear the sounds of heavy feet and feel the vibrations of the Urgals through the soles of my boots but, for a second, I found a moment of total peace of quiet as my mind slowed and I took a deep breath.

Resting a hand on my mare's dark neck, I whispered softly into her ear. "I promise you, Melynlas, with everything I am that I will do all I can for you in this battle."

The mare snorted almost as if she was agreeing to the same thing for me and, with that, I mounted and turned my attention back to the tunnel. It was time. Beside me, face set, Eragon had mounted Saphira and drawn his bow. Murtagh was already on Tornac while Arya, standing straight and tall, watched the tunnel. Orik, a little ways away, had his giant ax held ready. I readied my bow as a few soldiers prepared torches for the welcoming trap the Varden and dwarves had prepared.

As I notched an arrow to my bow, I could not help but glance up at the starless dome of Farthen Dur. I longed for a single bright star at the very least to take comfort in before this began but all I could see was the heavy shadows of the hollow mountain. I sighed and turned my gaze back to the tunnel as the sounds of Urgals bellowing reached my ears. It was time - for good or for ill - for the first battle of this rebellion. Who knew how it would end but, either way, I would do what I could.

The ground shook.

And I closed my eyes briefly as adrenalin began to run through me, hot and welcoming to my numb, terrified heart.

_Don't run little warrior. Draw you blade and fight. _

_Keep smiling in the shadow of the sun. _

* * *

><p><strong><em>Revised 127/2013_**

**_Enjoy!_**


	27. The Battle of Farthen Dur

"It has begun," said Arya softly.

Yes it had begun and there was no point saying it over and over in the hope that it would suddenly stop. I could see the bulky shapes of Urgals in the shadowy tunnel entrance and the glint of the torches on their weapons. It wouldn't be long now. A kind of relief spread through me because, after thinking about this and wondering about it constantly, it would finally begin and the outcome would be decided.

At a command from Joörmunder, the cauldrons of pitch were titled on their sides, pouring the scalding liquid into the tunnel's gaping mouth. The Urgals howled in pain, arms flailing. A torch was thrown onto the bubbling pitch, and an orange pillar of greasy flames roared up in the opening, engulfing the Urgals in an inferno. The sight, the sounds and the smell made me almost throw up over my mare's shoulder. Poor Melynlas snorted and danced backwards from the heat of the flames. The smell of burning flesh was sickening and the Urgal screams painful to hear. A quick glance around told me that this had happened at all the two other tunnels.

It did not take long for the Urgals to overcome this particular hurdle.

They quickly tamped the pitch down and clambered out over the charred bodies of their fallen companions, all the while bellowing for revenge. Behind the palisade of sharpened sticks archers began to fire and I added my own arrows to theirs. The arrows found their mark and, for a minute, the Urgals could do nothing but raise their shields and cower together as the arrows showered down. The solid line of Urgals wavered, threatening to break, but they covered themselves with their shields and weathered the attack. Again and again we fired, but the Urgals continued to stream onto the surface at a very frightening rate. I gave up wasting arrows and slipped my bow away, choosing to draw my sword instead. My hand brushed against my horn and a little flicker of warmth spread up through my arm. At least I had my horn if things got desperate.

And they very well might.

I watched, disgusted and frightened, as the Urgals charged forward only to be dashed against the first row of stakes, covering them with slick blood and limp corpses. A few Urgals fired arrows but I was too far back to be harmed by the deadly rain. Eragon and Saphira who were closer to the front of the lines were not affected overly much either.

It did not take long before the horde of Urgals overcame the pickets and swarmed forward. Now it was the Varden's turn to bunch together as if hoping this would make us harder to kill. For a moment things seemed to slow down.

The Urguls charge forward. Stop. The men at the front raised their spears to form a thorny wall of spears. Stop. Sound dies down. Stop. The seconds drag on. Stop. Then, suddenly, everything speeds back up and, with a deafening crash, the main bodies of the two opposing armies clash together and we were forced into the fight.

Things were complete mayhem from then on out.

The things I remember of that fight are the small details. They are the strange little things that my adrenalin fueled brain caught onto. Fire glinting on a curved Urgal blade as it was raised to deliver a killing blow. A young Varden soldier, his eyes wide with terror, as he passed by me with the shattered haft of a spear clutched in one hand. The bright red blood that flecked Melynlas's coat as she lunged forward after a deadly exchange of blows. The dangerously sharp points of an Urgal's horn as he lowered them at me, roaring his challenge. The feeling of sweat mixing with blood running into my eyes and making them burn.

You may have heard that battle is confusion and endless fighting that seems to have no beginning and no end. You may have heard that the only time we can make some sort of sense out of the carnage and pain is in nightmares that haunt us until our dying day. That's all got a grain of truth to it but battle is more than that.

You cannot hope to explain it so simply. You can hope to understand it a little when you ask a soldier and see his eyes cloud, his hands unconsciously tighten and his face grow cold. To really understand battle, to know what it really feels like…well the deepest understanding of something comes from living and doing. Battle is one of those things. It is everywhere. It is in books, songs and in our own individual pasts for all of us knows someone or has some long dead ancestor who fought in some battle or another.

Battle fills a person with wild fear that speeds up your reactions, sharpens your senses and makes you feel like you have just been plugged into an electric socket. Battle is sound. It is motion. It is the ache of small wounds. It is the exhaustion that begins to take its toll on your body because the adrenalin is draining. It is your mind desperately trying to process what is happening and it is something you can never forget or quite explain afterwards.

It is something apart from everything else.

I spin my sword, blocking an Urgal's club as I urged Melynlas forward so I could finish this duel and turn to another opponent. With one Urgal down and another few hundred ready to take his place, I wearily stroked my sweaty mare briefly. I needed a brief moment to catch my breath. We had been fighting for over two hours and there was no sign that it would slow down any time soon.

With a small nudge I moved my mare forwards and managed to take a few deep, steadying breaths before I was forced back into the fight when a Kull decided to try and decapitate me. I was halfway through finishing him and, at the same time, another Urgal off when I found myself fighting alongside a young man mounted on a brown charger. He was about my age – maybe a year or two older. He was obviously terrified but he managed a brief smile in my direction. I returned it and remained by his side until there was another break in the fighting. He was a decent fighter but battle is a game of luck and chance. You could be as skilled as Arya and still end up dead on the ground. I could end up dead on the ground. We all could.

"You alright?" I asked him.

What a silly question! Of course he wasn't alright and neither was I but the niceties of civilized society had not left me yet even this place and time.

He nodded. "As alright as I can be, my lady."

The battle carried on around us but, for a blessed moment, we were not part of it. It was like we were surrounded by some sort of invisible, protective bubble. My heart rate slowed a little and I was able to wipe some of the sweat from my forehead. I shifted my sword slightly in my hand and straightened myself in the saddle.

Giving him as much of a smile as I could manage right then I said, "Well look after yourself and when all this is over we might actually be able to have a conversation."

His grin made the blood, the screams, and the sounds of swords on swords and the bellowing Urgals seem quieter and easier to bear but not for long. The second we turned away from each other the protective bubble burst and we were caught back up in the fighting and separated. The fight carried me over towards Ajihad's battalion and I caught a glimpse of the fearless leader dueling three Kull at once. I also caught sight of Eragon mounted on a very frightening, very angry looking Saphira. However, I had little attention to spare for any of this.

At one point I found myself beside Murtah mounted on a blood flecked, wide eyed Tornac. Murtagh sent me a bloody grin and I returned it. He looked relatively unharmed and beside him was Orik, who fought with mighty blows of his ax that he delivered to the knees and legs of the Urgals. The combination of Orik and Murtagh was quite deadly and they were making short work of the Urgals who dared challenge them. Arya also passed me in the fighting, dueling four Kull at once with graceful spins and slashes. We fought beside one another for a time though we were forced apart at some point and I was sent spinning back towards the center of the battle field.

As the battle progressed, my mind began to focus on nothing else but my sword, the opponents I faced and - I hate to say it - but on killing. I was halfway through dealing with an Urgal when Brom managed to contact me through the haze of battle fueled energy that surrounded my mind. I say managed because I was so divorced from my mind, so completely focused on living that I had let my contact with the man fade away and out of my thoughts.

_Zoe! Listen to me!_

I ducked a Kull's swing and managed to evade being squashed by a dead Urgal as he tumbled backwards. _What is it Brom?_ I snapped back.

_You are needed. Hrothgar and his forces require aid. The fight goes badly for them._

_Right. Where are they?_ I spun my mare to the side, just managing to avoid being cut in half by a brutal looking Kull.

_They are on the far east side of the battle field. _

I did not respond but rather fought my way in the general direction. I happened to glance upwards and saw Eragon and Saphira diving down and, guessing that they were heading to Hrothgar, I followed them.

I found the dwarf King in a very nasty situation though he and his soldiers were making the best of it. King Hrothgar was wearing a very impressive suit of golden armor. He stood at the front of a small knot of dwarves wielding the ancient hammer, Volund, and his white beard stood out against the gold of his armor and the reddish light. He was impressive to watch fight and each swing of his hammer meant the end of an Urgal but, despite his impressive fighting prowess, dwarves were falling to his left and right. Somehow they had been separated from the main body of dwarves and now had their backs to the outside of the cavern. The Urgals had surrounded them on three sides and it was all the dwarves could do to protect themselves let alone their King - not that he seemed to need much protection.

I moved over to Eragon and Saphira. Eragon gave a wide-eyed half nod that I returned but there was no time for talking. Saphira did not acknowledge me, her blue eyes glowed with furious fire and she roared her challenge. Hrothgar did not even seem to acknowledge our presence just kept on fighting. Raising my blade I joined in, doing my best to help the dwarves get themselves out of the corner they had been locked in. For a brief moment I also saw Angela, dressed in green and black armor with her two handed shaft. Behind her was Solembum in cat form, his teeth bared in a feral grin and a small dagger in one paw.

Angela gave me a wicked grin and said, "Always nice to see you Zoe."

"Same to you Angela," I said as I spun Melynlas to the left to avoid an Urgal's hammer blow. The witch and her companion vanished amid the Urgals, though they did leave quite the path of dead Urgals behind them.

It was then that I happened to glance at Eragon and saw him and Saphira taking off. I sighed enviously; I would love to be able to leave the battle behind for a few moments of peace and quiet in the air. My moment of envious thinking nearly cost me my life.

There is no time for such thoughts or any inaction in battle.

And I nearly paid for it with my life.

An Urgal had used my distraction to his advantage and swung his club at my undefended chest. I realized this just a little too late, and with a cry I tried to raise my sword. I was going to be too late, I knew this and I was preparing for that massive blow…but it never came. The Urgal began to choke and then, to my utter shock, he crumpled sideways. Behind him stood King Hrothgar, mighty war hammer still raised and his eyes burning with hatred for the Urgals.

I gasped out, "Thank you your majesty."

He gazed at me and said, "You are welcome. I see you are using the armor we provided."

"Yes," I said, "it has saved my life more than once. I thank you, your majesty."

Hrothgar just nodded his head and nothing more was said between us and my attention returned once again to the killing that I had to do if I wanted to survive. However, despite all the Urguls that were felled there was always another Urgal. They were all fresh and all ready to win glory by killing as many of us they could. The Battle of Farthen Dür was by far the most sordid battle I had ever fought in or ever imagined fighting in. Men were falling to my left and right along with dwarves. If something didn't change soon there was no way we could win this fight. Where was that Shade? For once in my life I wanted him to be here and be here soon!

This had to end.

This had to end soon.

Throughout the battle I was contacted by Brom who did his best to send me where he thought I would be most useful. He also warned me if I was going to become trapped by Urgals. In short he did his best to keep me and everyone else alive. He must have felt rather guilty not to be down here fighting alongside us and so did his best to make up for it with his running battle commentary. It was rather annoying at points, I will admit, but what can you do? The old man was doing his best.

At one point I found myself close to Eragon and Saphira. I had just finished a rather vicious fight with a very large, very brutal Kull when I happened to glance over at Eragon who was dueling from Saphira's back. Not far away from him was Arya. I saw Eragon hold out a hand to her and help her onto Saphira but that was not what held my attention for long. To my horror I saw an Urgal running towards her just as she prepared to take off.

I realized three things right then. The first was that Eragon and Arya were going back into Tronjheim. If Eragon was going back then that meant Durza was going to be here very soon. But there was something of more immediate concern. For, in that split second, I realized was that I had to stop the Urgal before he lifted his ax and smashed it into Saphira's chest. All thoughts of changing future events went out of my head as my hand closed around the small knife in my belt, the last one I had.

Time slowed.

I raised my arm, took aim and let the small blade fly. It flew through the air with deadly accuracy, finding its mark in the back of the Urgals neck just as he lifted his ax. For a second he was stopped mid-step before falling to the ground. He was stopped – his life ended – but his ax…no! No his ax was still moving, still carrying all the force of the blow he had been about to inflict and it was sent spinning forward and straight into Saphira's side.

I screamed. I could not help it as I watched the blue dragoness struggle upwards. The dent in her armor, while not as severe as it would have been had I not stopped the Urgal, was still hampering her. The dragoness had to struggle to get herself up and, her flight erratic, she turned herself towards Tronjheim.

I had no time to regain myself after that little incident. I spun my mare and began to fight with all my remaining strength in an effort to get back to the city before it was too late. I managed to burst through a knot of Urgals and had a clear gallop towards the blood flecked white marble walls of the city mountain. I pressed my heels to my mare's tired sides. In desperation I leaned down and whispered in her ears in the Ancient Language, "Run Melynlas. Run!"

And run she did. My brave little mare galloped with all she had to the city. No one tried to stop or question us, a few Urgals sent some arrows our way but they fell short of their mark and we continued on. While my mare galloped towards the city mountain, I contacted Brom with my mind. _Brom?_

_What? _

_Get to the central chamber as quickly as you can. Durza is going to be breaking through there._ Brom did not respond but rather quickly cut the link with a hurried 'I'll get there right away.' I prayed with all my heart that he would.

I pulled Melynlas up to a stop in front of the front gates to the city. They were shut. About as shut as it can get. The gates might as well have been solid marble. I searched the surrounding walls for anything that might be a door. But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Furious tears began to prick my eyes as I searched the walls. No - not now - don't tell me I'm going to fail because I couldn't find a single door. Don't tell me I can't get into this stupid city because I can't find a single door! Had my brain not been so scrambled by fighting, adrenalin, desperation, despair and exhaustion I might have sat back for a moment and actually thought but I didn't - I couldn't. I was too strung out. Way too strung out.

I had been fighting for my life for hours and rational thought was out of my mental capabilities right then.

I dismounted haphazardly from my mare, stumbling on the uneven ground and left her standing there as I began to run my hands over the walls. What I hoped to accomplish by this I don't know but I had to do something. As I ran my hands over the walls, my fingers slid over a slight notch in the marble wall and my breath caught in my throat. Was that it? Oh please let this be it! Please, please with all my heart and more! Was that really a small chink in the wall? It was invisible until you got close and actually saw the irregular break in the smooth wall that signaled that there was a door, but it was there. I threw my weight against the door but it refused to open. I flung myself against it only for it to remain stubbornly shut. It could only be opened from the inside. I left out a half wail, half anguished sob as I leaned my tired body against the door.

Why now?

Why when I had to be somewhere did this have to happen? I was crying. I was beyond exhausted. I was burning with adrenalin and I was furious. I hadn't realized that until now. I was angry and it left me gasping for breath as I tried to contain my outrage. I was mad at the Urgals. I was mad at Galbatorix but above all, I was furious with whoever had sent me here unprepared, with no guidelines and no hints. I pounded my fists against the door. Why? Why me? Why did they have to do this to me? It wasn't fair - no it was so stupidly unfair that I wanted to blow something up.

Something inside of me stirred but I ignored at first. All my attention was on my furious, childish outburst of emotion but the feeling grew until I could no longer ignore it. My anger, my desperation and fear had broken the wall around some hidden part of myself that had been locked away and out of reach until then. With new found energy pumping through my veins, my fury lent me the key to unlocking this hidden part of who I was. I began to whisper, not in the Ancient language or any other language I thought I knew, but another one and I could not have told you what I was saying or why. It was beautiful, lyrical and powerful. Something stirred within me and white hot fire began to spread through my tired limbs and I felt...strong. My weariness and pain was left behind as this new power flew through me.

I focused all my will, all my new found strength, whatever was awakening inside of me on one word: open.

Open!

Open because of Eragon and Saphira. Open. I knew that all my strength, all my love, all my anger was going into that single word. Whatever it took I would pay the price. My hands burned and I cried out but I kept on. All my hope that we still might survive.

Open!

For good or for ill!

Open!

And it did.

With a mighty crack the door was blasted back from its hidden hinges. I gasped as the power inside of me suddenly died and left me feeling slightly sick and weak. I shook my head and pushed myself straight, using the wall to support my weight. It hadn't really registered what I had just done. My mind was already onto other things and I whispered, "Melynlas?" My mare moved forward nervously and I smiled slightly as I dragged myself back onto her back. I was distantly aware of scorch marks on the marble wall around the door frame as well as cracks that spread out from the hole I had blasted in the wall.

"We must hurry," I said and once again Melynlas needed little encouragement. She leapt forward and, while I hated to gallop her up the hard city streets, I knew I had to. I steered her as best I could and tried to get myself back together. I refused to think about what I had done but rather what I had to do. I drew my sword as we neared the central chamber, my heart thudding a loud, regular rhythm in my chest. The city was deathly quiet except for the sound of Melynlas hooves on the hard stone. Even the sounds of battle did not reach these deserted streets. The quiet was a blessed relief but it also set me on edge - it was too quiet and it was getting to me. I had just come from the hurly burly of battle and silence felt like a dangerous enemy after that barrage of sound.

When I was within easy running distance of the room I stopped my mare and rested a hand on her sweaty neck, "Stay here Melynlas. I'll come back for you. Thank you." She gazed at me with liquid brown eyes and gave me a nudge. I smiled and turned swiftly running along the marble corridor towards the central chamber.

I burst into the central chamber to see my worst nightmare being played out in front of me. Durza and Eragon squaring off while Urgals watched in the shadows. The marble floor of the chamber was cracked and broken from where they had broken through. I froze in the shadows of an arch and my chest constricted painfully. What now? What the hell did I do now? I cast my thoughts around desperately but could not find Brom anywhere. My mental line with the old story teller was broken. What had happened to him? No! No…no what did I do now?! I had solved the door problem only to come here and realize that I had no plan. I had some mad-cap idea of a plan that vanished the second I actually got here. I did not know what to do and nor did I have time to make a plan.

My entrance to the fight had not been noticed by anyone but I decided to change that. Worst comes worst then it would be both Eragon and I against Durza. Lovely, just what I wanted to do when I was this disorganized and at such a low point in my strength. Suddenly a voice that sounded suspiciously like Eomund whispered in my mind, _What about your mind? Or have you forgotten one of your greatest strengths? Why go bursting in with a drawn sword when you can influence the fight from the shadows and not go risking future events?_

A smile began to spread slowly across my face. Of course! Of course…how could I have forgotten?

Sending my thoughts outward I slipped into the mind of the Shade and began to interfere. Suddenly he could not quite concentrate as well on his attack on Eragon's mental defenses because of the strange things that were being whispered into his mind. I sung the lyrics to 'The Most Annoying Song,' I told bad jokes and did my best to confuse, distract and infuriate the spirits that controlled Durza. My brilliant plan worked amazing until Durza happened to glance towards where I was hiding. He must have caught sight of the slight glint of my armor or the vague outline of my body because, in that chilling voice he called out. "Who goes there? Or do I have send my Urgals to fetch you?" Eragon did not glance my way though he must have known it was me hiding there.

I sent my thoughts around for Brom once more but found nothing and so, cursing under my breath, I gritted my teeth and I stepped out. I raised my sword to a defensive position and had to smile at the look of complete shock, surprise and anger that flashed across the Shade's perfectly terrifying mask of a face. The emotions, however, quickly faded to be replaced by a feral smile that sent chills down my spine.

"So you managed to live did you?" said Durza silkily. "Well, well, well this is a fun little gathering isn't it Rider? Your loyal little friend and soon your dragon will be joining us. The King will be pleased indeed."

Eragon sent me one quick, desperate look and I sent a small tendril of assurance to him through my mind. Of course he did not believe we would be ok. Then again, deep down, neither did I. One does not escape a Shade easily or unscathed, especially when that Shade is fueled by fear of what his master would do if he returned empty handed.

"What," I asked coolly as I stepped forward cautiously, "makes you think we are going to the King?"

"Ah little girl," said Durza. "Why must you play this game? None of you can defeat me so why try?"

"I think you have grown over confident Durza."

He smirked, "Tell me then girl. What can you, a weak, battle weary human girl or a battle weary and weak Rider, do against me? A Shade who poses a challenge to even the greatest of elven warriors?"

I could not help it; I really could not help it. I laughed. I laughed and shook my head in amusement. Durza was frightening - of course - but he was such a perfect example of a classically bad villain with all the classically evil lines that it was almost comic. Notice I say 'almost' and that 'almost' only comes when you are running on the last ebbs of your strength and have just faced emanate death and are about to face it again. Your brain really isn't thinking very clearly and you find things you usually find terrifying somehow funny.

"Oh Durza," I said, "can't you just realize that we aren't about to give up so easily?"

He looked, if possible, a little unnerved by my laughter but not for long. "Then let us get this over with," and, with that, he lunged at Eragon who - luckily - saw it coming and met the Shade's strike with his own. I leapt forward and entered the duel. Durza met each of our strokes and I wondered how long I could keep this up. Not long at all, I thought as I narrowly avoid a strike at my left ribs. I was too tired and so was Eragon.

We were just too tired.

In a swift movement Durza sent Zar'roc flying from Eragn's grasp and to the floor a few feet away. Without pausing in his stroke the Shade raised the point of his sword to Eragon's neck. I froze as Durza met my gaze with his own that glittered with victory and cruel amusement. He ran the point along Eragon's neck, drawing a thin line of blood and I gave a small pained gasp. My body was frozen, my mind unable to work as everything suddenly went still around me.

"You see little girl," said Durza softly. "Do you not see now? We will always win. No matter what you do we will always win. No one is ever going to be strong enough to defeat us."

I knew that by 'us' he meant the evil, twisted spirits inside of him. I almost thought about dueling him mentally but I could not. For, the moment I did, he would kill Eragon. We were officially dead but...not quite I suddenly realized. Where was Saphira and Arya? Where the hell were they? Hope surged through my veins.

I glanced at Eragon and saw him looking at me steadily. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and I understood in a flicker of a moment as we shared our silent code. They are coming. Just above. Soon. My heart was beating unsteadily, my hands sweaty around the wire wrapped hilt of my sword.

Meeting the Shade's gaze Eragon said steadily, "You keep forgetting about something Durza."

"Oh?" said the Shade. "And what would that be Rider?" his voice changing to an amused hiss.

"Dragons!" and, with that, he flung himself backward from Durza and towards his sword. The ceiling - the most prized jewel of the dwarves - at that precise moment, began to crack and, in a sudden bang, the entire, beautifully carved gem of the Star Rose shattered in thousands of pieces that tumbled down towards us. Durza glanced upwards in shock and I saw Eragon raise his sword, the red blade was glowing red hot with flames but Durza let out a furious snarl and, before I could do anything, he slashed his sword at Eragon. The Rider cried out in agony and I saw blood and then everything suddenly slowed down. It felt like the world had just been paused at that exact instant. I felt as if I was trying to run underwater.

I saw Eragon, his face white with pain, glaring up at Durza who had raised one hand towards Saphira and Arya.

I saw Saphira, flames flaring from her gaping maw, and Arya was wielding her blade in one hand diving down toward us.

I saw the falling shards of the Star Rose.

I saw Durza open his mouth to say something - a spell or curse.

I saw Eragon raise his sword, the red blade still glowing with blue flames, and stab it through the heart of the Shade.

Then, as if life had suddenly been injected into my veins, something inside of me suddenly woke up and I leapt forward, sending out a mental shield that surrounded Eragon's mind as the Shade wavered and then crumbled the spirits flying upwards as the Shade's body disintegrated leaving nothing but a sword and a pile of armor. The walls I erected around Eragon were tested as the Shade's evil power battered against them in an effort to get at the quickly fading Rider but they held like stone against a wave as I filled them with my power and strength of my will.

I did not notice Saphira landing or the gentle settling of the shattered jewel. My attention was on the Rider in front of me. I fell to my knees and my sword clattered down beside me, dropped by my suddenly nerveless hand. I quickly turned Eragon over only to see a mess of blood, ripped armor and more blood. I let him back down and could not help the sob that escaped me. One glance around me told me that I was alone. I saw Arya unconscious on Saphira's back and utterly useless to me then. The dragoness herself was shaking with the effort of what she had done and the pain that must be radiating from Eragon through to her. I glanced down at Eragon, "Eragon,"  
>I whispered. "You've got to stay awake. Please."<p>

I cradled his head in my lap and looked down. I had, in my life as Zoe of Prydain, seen enough injuries to know that few people could lose blood like this and live. I smoothed back his bloody hair and tried to press some of my strength into his rapidly fading body. I felt as if I was choking. He was still alive but terror was coursing through my veins. To have him die in front of me, with Saphira right there, was utterly terrifying.

His eyelids fluttered. "Saphira?" he whispered.

His voice was shaking with pain and I gently stoked his face as I tried to keep him from letting himself go and vanish into the endless darkness of death. I was no healer and I had nothing with which to bind the wound. I was useless - worse than useless. After all the things I had done and learned I still could not save someone when it mattered. I hated the feeling; I hated this helplessness with all my heart.

"She's here," I said trying to keep the fear from my voice. "Come on, Eragon! Stay with me! Eragon!" I cried out desperately as he groaned in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. He was fading and with each drop of blood that left him he grew weaker and weaker.

Suddenly I felt the weight of my horn at my hip, it seemed heavier somehow than it had before as if it was trying to remind of its presence. My hand grabbed it spasmodically – the grasp of a desperate person - and I raised it. The eyes of the lion almost looked alive in the light. They glowed and winked as I gazed at them. I suddenly wondered at my foolish mind for ignoring such an obvious solution.

I had my horn.

My _horn. _

A horn from another world where magic pulsed and wove its way into everything. Without thinking I raised it to my lips and blew for the first time since I had left my home. The sound that echoed from it was long and it echoed around the room and spread out farther. It soothed me but it also made my heart thrum with hope. It reverberated through my very soul as it spread outwards. It caught me up in its wild power, crying out with wild urgency.

I did not have to wait long.

As I lowered the horn from my mouth and let it fall back to my side I saw Angela running from a tunnel. She was covered in Urgal blood and behind her ran Solembum in boy form. The relief I felt was almost palpable. Angela was here, she would make this right and I could pass Eragon off to her. I could let a true healer take over.

"Angela," I said desperately.

The witch knelt beside me, her voice brisk and the length of her sentences kept to the absolute minimum. "Get Arya, I'll take him. Keep your shield around his mind it is preventing the Shade from destroying his consciousness."

I nodded and rocked back on my heels as Angela lifted Eragon and hurried with him towards one of the tunnels. I went to Saphira who did not even acknowledge me and removed Arya from the saddle. As the elf's weight settled into my arms, I nearly dropped her as my body screamed out in pain and I dropped her to hard floor. I gasped in agony and looked down to see blood coming from a wound to my shoulder. I must have gotten it during the battle and, in my adrenalin fueled state, I had not noticed it.

Shaking my head to try and clear the pain from it, I half lifted the elf but didn't get very far because Brom was suddenly beside me. How did I not notice him? Was I that dead to my surroundings? Guess so.

"Zoe," he said his voice a confused mix of weariness and worry.

"Brom," I whispered.

"I'll take Arya. Where is Eragon?"

"With Angela. She went that way." I gestured vaguely at the tunnel the witch had run through and Brom nodded before taking the elf from my arms. "You need a healer Zoe," said the man looking at me with a mix of worry, kindness and fear.

"I'll be fine it's Eragon you should be worried about." My shield around his mind was still there and I could still feel the dark remains of the Shade pounding against it as well as the quickly fading consciousness of Eragon. "Go Brom," I said pushing myself straight. He gave me another worried, reluctant look and I tried to smile. "I'll be fine. Go!" He sighed but with another reluctant look at me he hurried away with the limp body of Arya in his arms.

"Saphira?" I asked the dragon stoking the bit of exposed scale on her lower jaw. "Saphira it will be alright." My reassurances sounded false in the heavy air of the chamber. How could anything be alright then with so many dead?

Nothing was alright.

We both knew that.

_Zoe. What will happen to Eragon? I cannot reach him…I can barely feel him. _

"I don't know," I said truthfully and I did not know and neither did I really want to think too hard about it. "You should go to him Saphira. I promise you that Angela will do all she can for him. Have hope."

The dragon nodded her head slightly and began to pick her way through the shards of the jewel as she made her way after Angela and Brom. The normally strong, proud dragon was a shattered remnant of who she had been only a moment before as she flew down with fire erupting from her mouth. She did not even bother to lift her tail up to avoid hitting the jagged remains of the jewel or mention her use of fire.

Left alone I retrieved my sword from where I had dropped it and returned to my mare that was still standing where I had left her. Melynlas had one hind leg cocked and both ears perked. I could not help but smile as I stroked her neck and whispered another 'thank-you' in her ears. For a second I just stood there, leaning my body against the warm shoulder of Melynlas and breathing in the smell of warm horse before I led her back through the empty tunnels towards the stables on the lower levels. The distant sounds of fighting could still be heard from the battle field as I drew closer to the lower levels but things would now have turned in the Varden's favor and I did not think I was in any shape to return to the fighting - my horse was certainly not.

I arrived to find only one stable hand in the stables. He was a young man who hurried forward from his seat on a hay bale when he saw me and my mare enter the building. Most of the horses were gone, expect for a few who stuck their heads out of their stalls and whinnied joyfully when they saw my mare who was too tired to even whicker.

The young man took the reins from my hand and said, "What is going on out there my lady?" He was maybe seventeen and I wondered why he had been left behind. Perhaps he could not fight though that would be strange for a young man in the Varden or…well who knows. I didn't really care at this point.

I shrugged, "Durza has been killed and the battle has been tipped in the Varden's favor."

The tension in the boy's shoulders fell away and he smiled, "No better news could there be. Who killed Durza? And what was that noise that came from the city? Or the explosion by the main gates? I thought the Urgals had broken the gates down."

I smiled tiredly, "Rider Eragon killed Durza. The noise was the sound of my horn when I summoned help. As for the bang...well that was me to. I had to get into the city and the only way was to blast a hole in the wall." I was so exhausted that I did not even see the funny side of what I had just said. It was all I could to do to stay awake let alone censure my words for the sake of a stable hand.

The boy's eyes widened and he stared at me wide-eyed before saying, "Oh. Well let me look after your mare, my lady. She is need of tending and so are you." I saw the faint flush of color in his cheeks as he said that to me and I could not have agreed more. I did need tending but I also wanted to stay with my mare who had been such a faithful companion through this entire mess.

Trying for some lightness in my voice I said, "I'm fine. Let me help you."

The stable hands was too intimated by me to argue so he let me hold my mare while he removed her tack, sponged the blood and sweat from Melynlas's coat, and then stitched some wounds on her flanks before he bandaged them and then placed a warm blanket over her. Leaving me with my horse he prepared a stall and, at last, I was allowed to let Melynlas go into the roomy, deeply bedded stall. The mare drank, ate a little hay and then lay down with a deep, happy groan of contentment.

The stable hand left me and I suddenly just wanted to lie down and fall asleep with my horse. The deep straw bed was looking about as comfortable as it could get so - ignoring my various injuries and the press of my other duties - I slipped inside the stall and curled up in the crook of my mare's neck. Melynlas gave a soft nicker and that was the last thing I heard before falling asleep.

Some sensible part of me made me check on my barricade around Eragon's shattered, pain filled mind. It was still strong and so I added more layers of protection to it before giving into sleep completely. I left a small thread of connection between it and my own mind so I would know if it changed. I did not dream - I just fell into a dark pool of nothing. It was a blessed release from everything that happened to me that day.

It was over.

And we were still alive.

Somehow, miraculously, we were still alive.

So far. And that had better not change.

* * *

><p>Murtagh groaned as he made his way to the stable with Tornac.<p>

The horse stumbled wearily beside him and every step Murtagh took sent stabs of pain through his leg from a gash delivered by a Kull that had aimed to cut him from the saddle. He had tied a rough bandage around it but it would need cleaning and stitching soon. Also on his list of pressing concerns was Zoe. He had not seen her since the battle and no one he had asked had known either where she was or what had happened to her. He knew that it had been her horn that echoed out across the battle field from the city mountain but that was not helping him find her. In fact it just made him more worried. What had happened to force Zoe to blow her horn? She had never used it in the time he had known her and would only have blown it if she was forced to.

The stable was bustling with soldiers attending to their horses but one young man, a stable hand who had not fought by the looks of him, appeared beside Murtagh so silently that the young warrior jumped and fell back into a defensive position. He must be exhausted indeed to allow someone to slip up on him like that. Perhaps it was best he had left the battle field when he had.

"May I take your horse?" asked the young man, holding out a hand for Tornac's reins. Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Murtagh nodded his head and let the boy take the reins from him.

"Yes," said Murtagh, "take good care of him for me. Also," Murtagh paused and asked, "you haven't seen a young woman come in with a dark grey mare have you?" His voice was desperate despite his best attempts to control it.

To his utmost relief the young man nodded. "She came in first. Her mare is in the seventh stall on the right and you will find the Lady there to. She is asleep with her horse and I did not want to wake her."

Murtagh gave him a true, grateful smile before hurrying towards the indicated stall. Zoe was there. She was curled up with her head on her mare's neck and one hand under her cheek. The mare flicked one ear at Murtagh but did nothing when he entered the stall and allowed him to kneel, painfully, beside the sleeping form of Zoe.

A quick inspection of her confirmed that she had not escaped the battle unscathed. Gently shaking her shoulder he smiled as she flinched and one hand went to her sword.

"It's me," said Murtagh softly as Zoe opened her dark-grey eyes.

"Murtagh?" she asked groggily as she struggled to sit up only to wince and close her eyes in pain. "What's happening?"

"Not much," said Murtagh. "I just came in from the battle field. Ajihad is planning to send groups of men in to chase Urgals that escaped into the tunnels. I will be going with them once my injuries have been seen to. I think you also have some hurts that need tending."

She nodded and gratefully accepted his help to stand. She wavered a little on her feet but managed to get her balance and Murtagh had to force his worry away. Zoe would appreciate him fussing over her. Now that he could see her better he saw dried blood on her left shoulder as well as deep graze that went from her temple down her cheek. He had never seen her look so worn, her face was ashen and her eyes dull with a mixture of exhaustion and pain. Concern for her filled him again but, aware that he looked no better than she, Murtagh simply offered her his arm and the two left the stall. They made their way out of the busy stable and back into the street where more and more soldiers, some on stretchers, were arriving.

Once they were outside Zoe said quietly, "I should go and see Eragon. He was badly injured by Durza when he killed him."

"You need to have your wounds looked after first!" said Murtagh. How could she ignore injuries when they were so obviously affecting her? Not that he could talk about ignoring injuries, nagged a small part of his brain which was only backed up by a painful twinge of his leg.

"Brom is there and he can look after me," said Zoe. "Why don't you come with me?"

He raised his eyes to the dark cavern of the hollow mountain. How he wished for open sky! The city mountain felt claustrophobic to him right then and the smell of death was heavy on the air and it made it difficult to breathe. He longed for a true wind to blow the smoke and death away or even just cool his sweaty face. It must be dark outside for no light entered the mountain and the city was lit with thousands of torches as soldiers hurried this way and that.

With a sigh, Murtagh lowered his eyes to gaze deeply into Zoe's tired, pained eyes. "I'll go with you." She smiled and the two of them made their way from the bottom levels upwards. Zoe seemed to know where she was going and finally they arrived in a wide, open corridor that Murtagh recognized as the one where the Healing Hall he had taken Zoe was. Saphira was stretched out in front of a door she turned her armored head to look at them when they approached.

_Murtagh. Zoe._ said the dragon. Murtagh thought he had never heard the dragoness sound so miserable. How badly injured was his brother to make Saphira this worried?

"Saphira. Have you heard anything?"

_No. Nor can I do anything for him. _

The door beside Saphira opened and Brom stepped out into the corridor followed by a haggard looking Arya. Murtagh stared in open-mouthed amazement - he had never seen the elf princess look that exhausted or disheveled. Her black hair was messed with blood and tangles, her clothes were ripped and her armor dented from the battle. She looked worse than she had when they had rescued her from Gil'ead.

"Arya!" said Zoe. "I did not think you would be awake yet."

"Angela has helped me," said Arya simply. She glanced at Brom, "I must sleep I will see you all later." With that she left and Brom looked after her worriedly.

"Will she be alright?" asked Murtagh.

"Yes," said Brom, "but she overused her magic and it will take her time to recover. We almost lost her."

"What about Eragon?" asked Zoe tensely, her eyes never leaving Brom's face as she gazed at him.

An expression of guilt, pain and worry crossed Brom's already lined face. "Angela is doing all she can. Your mental shield is preventing his mind from being tormented by the remains of the spirits but the wound Durza gave him is grievous indeed." Murtagh shifted his weight painfully and the wince, along with the movement, caught Brom's eye. "Come," said the story-teller firmly, "I will treat your injuries. I know that Ajihad will want both of you to help him remove the Urgals and so you will need to get back to him quickly."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Revised 127/2014_**

**_Enjoy!_**


	28. Chapter 28

**_I am sooo sorry about how long this took! School has been demanding way too much attention. This may seem a bit 'fillerish' but it will be followed quickly by some more chapters! I did promise to have this done before the New Year after all! ;) As always thank you! _**

**_Note* I've changed how Zoe narrates what is going on around her. I wanted her to almost feel like she is speaking directly to the reader - you - instead of just recording events. Let me know if you like this or not! _**

* * *

><p>It had been a long three days. After Brom had tended to our various bangs and scraps Murtagh and I had joined the patrols that Ajihad was leading after the retreating Urgals. It was not pleasant, not in the least and I will spare you my complaining about the lack of sleep, the fighting and the irritable dwarven guides who glared at us under their heavy brows as they muttered curses under their breath.<p>

It was highly irritating and it was made worse by own foul mood which hung around me like a thick, black thunderhead and made everything seem twice as bad as it actually was. I took a certain amount of vindictive pleasure watching everyone skirt around me as if I was a dragon who might snap their heads off any minutes. My thinking went along the lines of: why waste energy in the personal charm category when you could be putting it towards getting out of the damp, dark and suffocating tunnels in one piece? Ah, I am sorry I am beginning to rant again. My apologies. I truly did not mean to vent to you at all but, well, sometimes it slips when you are as tired as I am.

I had managed to escape the patrols when Murtagh was bashed over the head by an Urgal and another managed to crack a bone in my arm. Perhaps 'managed' is the wrong choice of words for I was glad to help the Varden but it was with a huge sigh of relief that I returned to the open air of the city mountain. I was not claustrophobic but I had felt trapped in those dark tunnels that smelled of damp moss and blood. At least Farthen Dür was open and you could catch sight of stars and the sun if you strained your eyes and the air inside of the mountain was not too smokey.

_Though,_ I reflected, _the smell of death is heavy here to._ It lingered on the air and conjured memories of those brutal hours spent on the battle field. I could not escape the smell and could not I escape the memories of the battle that flashed across my vision when I tried to catch a few minutes rest. Where was I now? you, the patient reader, asks.

Right this second I was resting my head against the white wall of the hallway in the healing wing of Tronjheim where Eragon was still asleep. My right arm was bandaged tightly and I had managed to have a bath and change my clothes. I had sent my armor to be cleaned and repaired and thrown my bloodied, ripped and in general ruined clothing out. After that was taken care of I had made sure my various weapons, including three new throwing daggers I had picked up from the dwarves before leaving on patrol, were firmly strapped on.

So here I was, sitting cross legged on the stone floor. I could not help but play with a curl of my dark hair as I sat there. That old habit picked up from the study halls of high school was still there. How ironic.

Murtagh was sitting beside me along with Arya who still had dark shadows under her eyes and an exhausted Brom was currently trying to catch some sleep in one of the empty healing rooms. Saphira was stretched her full length down the corridor, someone had, at one point, removed her armor but the dragoness had yet to leave her place by the door that marked the entrance into Eragon's chamber. She rarely spoke and even her scales seemed to have lost their normal bright luster that made her shimmer like a thousand jewels.

The shield I had placed around my friend's mind was no longer in place. Angela had taken that duty over when I left for the patrols. The healer had hoped that the shield had prevented the remnants of the Shade from causing any more damage but that remained to be seen.

The young Rider was still asleep, or at least that was what Angela had said three hours ago when Murtagh and I had arrived in the hallway. The wound Durza had given him was as bad as it had first appeared to me in the central chamber and Eragon had been lost in a fever made worse by blood loss for the last few days. Healing his body had taken all of Angela's and Brom's combined strength along with the secret help of Oromis far away in Du Weldenvarden. I smiled slightly as I remembered the ancient Rider and dragon. Maybe I would get to meet him and mighty Gleadr one day...

However thinking of him reminded me of the dilemmas I was now facing. At least on patrol my mind had been too occupied on the present to worry about the future but that was not true anymore. Now I had nothing on which to direct my full attention except for the white wall in front of me which became the place where the images conjured by my mind played out. On it's white, unmarked surface I saw bloody battles, my friends dying while I watched helplessly, Galbatorix taking over not just this world but Earth and my own home. I could not shake the images and they were mixed with the things I seen in my most recent battle along with the ones I had fought beside my brothers and sister.

To save Ajihad meant that Nasuada would not take control of the Varden. To save Murtagh from his fate was to prevent the second dragon egg from hatching. Even the smallest change sent out ripples that touched multiple other little events until you had an avalanche of change. Yet, I was growing tired of this self doubt and constant worry. I wanted to throw my hands up and just forget abou this particular headache.

However, no matter how hard I tried I could not stop thinking about it. Did I change history or did I leave it? I had risked future events with Brom and with Arya. Could I bear to betray my friendship with both the Varden's leader and Murtagh just for history? Murtagh would hate me – not that I could blame him at all for that. I would probably feel exactly the same if I was in his shoes and had known that someone could have prevented my suffering. Brom would hate me for not trying to save Ajihad. Arya would be of a similar mindset and so would Eragon though that would be because of Murtagh. Hate may be a strong word but it seemed appropriate in this situation. For to do nothing was to risk my friendship with those who had come to trust me but to act meant perhaps losing this war.

The white corridor and silence suddenly felt suffocating and this feeling grew until I could no longer bear to sit here. I pushed myself up from my place on the floor beside Murtagh. Everyone glanced at me in confusion and surprise but I just said, "I'll be back." Murtagh sent me a worried, concerned look but said nothing as he returned his gaze to the white wall. Arya just leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes tiredly.

Turning I walked quickly away from my friends, my nervous energy making me walk far faster than normal or even what was considered polite. My shoulders were tight with tension and I barely glanced left or right as I nearly ran down the corridor. I had one purpose and that was to try and outrun my own thoughts.

My feet carried me through the white marble hallways and past the open doors to the Healing Halls where men still lay recovering from the battle - I walked even faster by those doors, trying to avoid hearing the moans and small cries of pain that emanated from them.

I passed both members of the Varden and dwarves as I wandered through the corridors. All of them greeted with me with a murmured 'my lady' or a small bow and I inclined my head automatically to recognize their words and actions but did not try to engage any of them in conversation. Call it rude but I did not feel like speaking or slowing my rapid pace.

I finally found myself in a quiet, unused corridor where dust motes glittered in the light and the silence was heavy but not in a bad way. This silence was soothing not smothering. The dusty, unused feeling was comforting to my frenzied thoughts instead of making me feel trapped.

As I wandered down the corridor, looking out the open arches to my right a small measure of peace slowly filled me. This particular corridor overlooked a hidden garden and flowering vines grew up the arches from below, filling the corridor with their heavy perfume. It was built in a square shape around the beautifully tended garden. A courtyard far removed from everything in this towering city of white marble. No hint of death touched me here - I could forget the memories, the sounds and the smells that haunted me. I never wanted to leave. Finally I took a seat on one of the arches and looked out at the garden below me as I rested my head back on the cool stone.

Slowly, my body relaxed and my mind began to slip away, wandering the corridors of my own convoluted memories and feelings. I was startled from my trance like state by a voice, that came from my left, and, turning quickly, I saw a woman standing a few feet away. She was very beautiful and dressed in a flowing, cream colored dress. A circlet of hammered gold rested on her shining black hair. Her smile was kind as she regarded me with her crystal blue eyes. It was then that I realized that she was floating a few inches above the ground, for some reason that seemed perfectly natural as did the way the light seemed to shine through her as if she was not really there. Everything was so peaceful and the way she looked at me made me feel both safe and loved.

"Zoe," said the woman walking forward on the air to come and stand in front of me. "You are troubled."

For some reason I felt no reason to answer with a sarcastic or biting comment like I might have done if Brom or anyone else had spoken that to me in the last few hours. I felt no need to question either her strange appearance or how she seemed to know my name. Instead I said softly, "Yes." I felt different with this woman - more mature. The only way I can describe it is I felt more like the leader and less like a confused, frustrated and frightened teenager that I had been fluctuating between on most if this journey.

"You wonder what you should do in regards to your friend Murtagh and the leader of the Varden Ajihad." The simple way she summarized my thoughts made me feel slightly foolish as if I had been running circles around a easily solved problem.

I raised an eyebrow but just said, "Yes." Things were simpler here and I felt no need to defend, to argue or to vent. I could just examine the puzzle in front of me without all that emotion clouding my thoughts.

The woman sighed softly, "I can only suggest that you follow your heart."

"My heart?" I asked, "but what if by following my heart I destroy this world?"

"Do you think that by saving Murtagh you will do this world some good?"

"I do not know," I met her wise, kind gaze reluctantly with my own.

She smiled and reached out one hand to raise my chin so that she was gazing down at me. "Yes you do," she said kindly. "You do not think you can trust your feelings Zoe but you can. You must live in the present not in the future. You might fail to save those you wanted to but you can still try."

"What will happen if I do save them?"

"I cannot say," her hand was warm on my face, soothing almost like a mother's touch. "Future is not set in stone and there are many strands. You must think of it as a tapestry. If by adding new colors, new threads, will you change the original plan so much that it bears no resemblance to what you imagined it looking like?" I shook my head slightly in confusion. The woman continued, "You are like a weaver Zoe. Weaving a tapestry for this land. You may be altering the design but perhaps in a good way. You cannot know for sure until it is all over."

"In this tapestry," I asked quietly, "does everything work out?"

"I have seen twelve different futures for this land and all those other worlds that it are connected to Alagaesia through the Gates. In each of them but one," and here she paused and looked down on me her eyes serious, "Alageasia fell and by extension each of the worlds that Gabatorix conquered."

"What?" I breathed out in horror. Was this my fault? Was everything that desperate? My thoughts were flying from one disaster to another as I imagined what might be waiting for me in what sounded like a miserable future. I hung onto the slim hope that, at least in one plan, everything worked out. Now if I just knew that plan...

"Yes," said the woman softly and her eyes were filled with dark pain. "In all but one weaving. I shall tell you this however Zoe, in the future where it ended the right way, it was because you followed your heart and made choices that were both true and honest." She stopped and looked passed me, shaking her head sadly she said, "I cannot stay much longer. I am needed elsewhere but I do have a warning and some advice for you Zoe."

I looked up at her, not sure I wanted to hear that warning or that advice. She smiled reassuringly though her face remained serious, "The warning is this: Galbatorix does not know you still live, and the longer you can remain invisible to him the better. He cannot find out your true heritage or the full extent of your powers. If he does the information you carry will be put at risk."

Nodding in understanding, I looked up into her ancient blue eyes. "I will do my best," I said simply.

"That is all I, that we, ask," said the woman with a faint smile. Continuing to speak, she said, " The advice I have for concerns the attachment you feel for the young man, Murtagh. "

"What about Murtagh?" I asked confused and wary at the same time. My feelings for Murtagh were something I did not want to discuss. Not because I was embarrassed by it, well ok maybe I was, but because I did not know what to think of those ridiculous, blush inducing emotions that made my stomach flutter and my head feel like it was full of fluff like I was some sort of teenaged school girl. The girls that I had always rolled my eyes at when I went to school on Earth. I had always found those girls to be ridiculous and now look at me! I was in the middle of a war not a romance novel!

The woman pressed one finger to my lips to stop my frantic explanations and said, "You will have to leave this place one day. Alagaesia is not you true home and Murtagh is destined for another."

I felt hollow, like someone had just punched me in the gut and when I spoke, my voice was shaky. "Nasuada," I breathed out. "I..." Tears began to prick my eyes as I realized that my first impressions about this romance were right. My heart would only end up shattered and so would Murtagh's. I could not choose between my home and family and the life I had created here in Alagaesia with true friends and allies. This was too hard. A tear rolled down my cheek and fell to the stone floor that I was now staring at. More threatened to join it.

I did not know what to think. Should I be grateful that this romance was going to go no farther? Or was I actually happy? Was I excited about the possibility of having a relationship with Murtagh that was more than friendship? Was this what heartsickness felt like? Worse, what in the world was I going to tell Murtagh? I must bore you with my questions but I find myself asking them constantly to try to keep things in some sort of perspective. If you are rolling your eyes at me - than go ahead but seriously I was about as confused, emotionally wrung out as I had ever been. What was the point of love if this was all it brought you?

"Shh," whispered the woman softly running on finger along the bottom of my eye, catching the tears before more could fall. "Love is the greatest gift of all so treasure it. Love Murtagh if your heart tells you to. He already loves you and you will need him before the end of this."

"How can I keep doing this?" I asked brokenly. My heart already felt like it was snapping in two. "You are telling me to be careful because I will have to leave and then telling me to love him!" I was not angry or wanting to lash out. No, I just wanted this to end. To get a clear, easy to understand answer for once.

"You must live in the now," said the woman leaning her beautiful head down to kiss me gently on the brow. The kiss sent gentle waves of warmth through my body. "I gave you this advice not to break your heart but to prepare you. It does not mean you cannot love, you cannot sacrifice for Murtagh but it does mean that you should treasure the time you have now with him."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The woman dropped her hand to my should and said quietly, "You should return to your friends, I think that Rider Eragon will be awakening soon and he will want to see you."

"Am I strong enough for this?" I asked. I was unable to stop the question as I felt myself return to more stable emotional ground - away from the tempest that had swept me up in its centre.

"Yes," said the woman simply. "You forget Zoe that the blood of ancient Kings and powerful enchantresses flows through your veins. You have many deeds towards your name. Trust yourself for once." She smiled and lifted my chin with one finger, "trust your heart little princess. It has yet to lead you astray except for when you question it."

As I looked into her eyes, she pulled me gently into her mind. It reminded me slightly of Arya - full lyrical music and massive like a towering mental mountain above my own small consciousness but I was quickly distracted by what she showed me.

_I was looking at myself. I was standing with an old man whose white beard touched the ground in front of a small, white-walled cottage with flowering veins growing up the walls. A small barn lay behind it and there was a carefully attended vegetable garden and orchard. It was a peaceful, simple place. A heavy tome was under one of his arms and his bright blue eyes were gazing sternly at my other body. His name flickered on the edges of my memory, just out of reach but so close! Was it M-something or D?_

_In a stern voice the man said, "Maybe if you stopped trying so hard to get somewhere and let things happen as they may you would not have to struggle against the weight of the world Lady Zoe."_

I felt myself slowly withdraw from the woman's mind and return back to the present. I swayed slightly on my feet as I felt myself sink back inside my own body. Wide eyed, I whispered "Who are you?"

The woman smiled mysteriously as she turned away and began to walk away from me, "You will find out soon enough Zoe of Angard and Llyr. You have nothing to be ashamed of either in your own world or this one. Stop worrying about failure and start having a little faith in yourself and your considerable skills." Suddenly she turned back and I saw amusement flickering in her eyes making them dance in the sunlight."I nearly forgot!" she exclaimed with a laugh.

From one hidden pocket she drew a small, black object and threw it to me. I caught it reflexively and looked down to see a black rock, about the size of a golf ball with flecks of white crystal in my palm.

I looked questioningly at the woman who just smiled mysteriously. "It was yours before you went to Earth. I believed it was something of a light in dark places." Her smile was secretive and before I could say anything she vanished in a shimmer of golden light and the hallway seemed darker without her glowing presence. I sighed, slipping the rock into my pocket, rising as I did so and began to retrace my footsteps to Eragon's room.

Despite the gravity of the woman's words and the strangeness of our conversation, my thoughts were calmer, my temper more evened and I felt that feeling of certainty, of assurance, that I had lacked since the battle and even before that. I felt collected, calm and most of all able to deal with any problem with efficient ease. I no longer felt like I was drowning in my inadequacy.

As I made my way back to the hallway I puzzled over the woman's warning. Was it a way of saying I should go to Du Weldenvarden? If I remained with the Varden I would most certainly be reported by some spy to Galbatorix but to go to the elves would mean peace and a chance to escape the politics of the Varden which I found so grating.

Then there was her advice concerning my love life, how embarrassing to say that to you. I smiled wryly, a few months ago I had been worrying about grades, my divorcing parents and what my future might look like but now...now those worries did not exist for me anymore. I had wanted to be part of a story book land and look at me now.

Be careful what you wish for reader. Be very careful, your world is not as certain as you thought and all it takes is one ordinary afternoon to shatter your carefully constructed illusion.


	29. Recovery

_He was too weak. _

_S__omehow he had managed to draw his shattered consciousness into a small, bright shell around his core but he could no more than that. Outside his mind he was aware of a pain so great that it threatened to break him until he was snuffed out like a candle in the wind but something - or someone - kept that pain at bay. He was also aware of another consciousness, this one dark and evil, but it was also kept at bay and so he did not concern himself with it. _

_In the darkness he floated between life and death, between hope and despair, between nothing and knowing. He found himself reliving moments of what had to be his life but there was no way he could be certain. The memories that flitted in front of him were like brightly colored jewels against the deep blackness that surrounded his mind, his very soul, but there seem to be no connection between them. They came randomly and with no apparent order but they touched something inside of him, seemed to be fighting to wake him from this dark trance. _

_He saw a dragon egg glowing like a bright blue star in the middle of the dark clearing in the Spine. _

_He was crouched in a defensive position, a sword in one hand staring at the unconscious body of a young woman in the middle of a moonlit clearing. He could not remember her name but he knew she was important. Just as the dragon egg was something crucial to his destroyed identity._

_He was standing beside a blue dragon, a red sword was in his hand and he was staring into the deep shadows beneath the trees that surrounded him. He was about to be attacked, he knew that but before he could raise the sword, the image changed._

_He was sitting in front of a small fire. The girl was with him and a new person, a young man with dark eyes and hair who was caught in mid laugh. A grizzled old man was seated with them smoking a pipe. Curled up around them was a bright azure blue dragon. A sense of happiness, of contentment, filled him but his mind did not let him linger by the small campfire in the middle of an open prairie of grass for long._

_It blew away like smoke in the wind. _

_The next memory was dark and it chilled him to the core. It was a small prison cell. The walls were slimy and the air was moist and heavy with desperation. He wanted, more than anything, to escape this place. This was a bad place, a bad memory and he wished he knew how he had come to be here. _

_It was with a great sense of relief that that memory vanished to be replaced by a new one. He was riding a sweaty red bay horse under a brilliant night sky. The young man from before was riding beside him on a grey war horse and far above he saw the dragon flying. Why was he here? Who was the man beside him? Why did they ride so fast and so urgently? _

_Memory after memory claimed him in a never ending tide of images, sensations and thoughts but, despite all this, he could not remember. He did not know his name or what the people he saw meant to him. Whoever he was, he was lost in a sea of nothing. He could not escape this emptiness or the memories for he was too weak and he did not even know how._

_Who was he? Who? He did not even know how long he had been here in this darkness. Time had no meaning here - life had no meaning. Perhaps he should just give up, he could feel himself slipping a little towards a kind of blackness that he knew he could never escape. It would be easy to let go. Easier than this. He slipped a little further towards that final darkness. It was calling for him. The music coming from it was sweet and comforting. So easy… _

Eragon.

_The word echoed through the darkness but it was distant. Too distant for him to truly hear it. He was getting closer to Death. It was strange but he was no longer afraid of dying, he did not want to fight it any longer. All he wanted to was to be free and at peace. Death was offering that to him and he could no longer deny he didn't want that peace. He had nothing to fight for here for he did not even know who or what he was. _

Eragon.

_The word came again and this time it was a little clearer. He wondered what the word meant. He knew it meant something, maybe something important to him. His curiosity did not last long and he felt himself slip a little more, not that he really cared._

Eragon. Come to me.

_There was a note of command, of power in that voice. The words it spoke pierced the darkness around him. A little bit of hope grew within him but, as much as he wanted to, he was too weak to do as it asked. He did not know how to follow that voice and nor did he wish to abandon the little bit of security he had for the deep, black unknown that the voice was calling him into._

You must come with me Eragon. Come back to the light. Come back.

_This time he felt as if a hand was reaching out to him, an offer he could refuse. He did not really think about it, just reached out and took that hand. Slowly he felt himself being pulled out of the darkness and farther away from death. It was hard. As the darkness began to clear he felt pain. It was still distant but it was there and demanding his attention. Why had he taken that hand? He did want to live. He wanted peace and rest – death had promised him that and more. _

_He wanted the end. _

_As the darkness began to clear he found himself remembering more and more. His life was beginning to fit together like puzzle pieces. His name was Eragon. He was a Rider for the dragon Saphira. His half-brother was Murtagh and his best friend was Zoe. He had killed the Shade Durza._

_As he remembered Durza he felt the splitting pain of the sword biting into his flesh. He remembered Zoe speaking to him through the burning pain and he remembered fighting in the battle. Had the Varden won? He did not know and nor did have the strength to worry. The Varden meant nothing to him here nor did Saphira. He felt nothing and nor did he want to._

_The voice came again and this time Eragon felt the touch of another mind - one so vast that it made him feel like an ant next to a mountain. Like Arya's mind, music ran through this one. The notes were majestic and they spoke of glory, sadness but courage. He suddenly realized that this was what was blocking the pain, what had lifted him away from death but it was not blocking that evil, vicious darkness that threatened to overwhelm the Rider and sweep him away to Death's welcoming arms. _

Eragon. I have protected you as best I can but you are too far away for me to much more than shield you from the pain. You must come back to the light! _The voice resonating deep within him like a deep drum that called him forward. He knew he should respond but his thoughts were too slow to formulate a response. _

_When he finally managed to speak, his words were brief and soft. _Who are you?

I go by many names but I hold the answers to the question you ask.

Once again summoning all his strength he asked,Where are you? _He wanted answers and he wanted the weight of responsibility to be lifted from him. Maybe this stranger could do that for him. Maybe..._

Follow Arya. She will bring you to me. I have waited many long years for you so do not delay or it may be too late. Now rest young Rider. You have wrought a deed few others could. Rest easy knowing that.

_An image was passed from the stranger to Eragon of a brilliant white figure standing on the edge of cliff face. Warmth, kindness, pride and peace emanated from the foreign mind. It enveloped him, soothing and comforting him as he slid into a true sleep. He did not even have time to reply to the stranger for, before he even really knew it, he was asleep but this time he was in a place of light and not shadow. His mind at rest as he slumbered untroubled by memories, pain or the evil darkness of the Shade or the troubles that came as part of a dragon rider. He had been brought back from the doorstep of death._

* * *

><p>Far away, on a sun-drenched cliff in the middle of the dense forest of Du Weldenvarden, a silver haired elf turned and gazed at his golden dragon. For a long moment the elf and the dragon merely stared at each other. Their surroundings were peaceful, the sky eggshell blue and a gentle breeze making the leaves rustle softly.<p>

_He will live?_ asked the dragon at last.

_Yes_, said the Cripple Who Is Whole. _He will live and he will seek us out._ The elf turned and gazed out at the sweeping forest that spread out below the cliff. His heart was uneasy and he did not truly know why he was so unsettled. It was a feeling that he was unused to and he did not quite know from where it came or for what reason.

_That is what you wished to accomplish_, said the dragon, _so why are you still troubled?_ The dragon never took his liquid gold eyes off the elf and his tail flicked lazily from side to side as if he was planning on pouncing.

_I am troubled about what the repercussion of killing the Shade will be for Eragon._

_You fear that the Shade may have cursed him._

_Yes. But there was some other power guarding him. That is what worries me. It was a power that did what I could not and protected him from the fragments of the Shade._

_You do not know who this power belongs to._

_No. It was not Arya or Brom but someone else and they were no weak Varden spell caster. It was someone powerful and they had created an unusually strong mental shield around Eragon. Few have that skill or the strength to do that._

_Do you think it has anything to do with the wild magic that was released a few months ago? The magic that rocked the whole of Du Weldenvarden and sent the elves into a panic?_

_Perhaps. Everything is connected and I would not be surprised if there are greater things at work than first meets the eye._

_We will have to wait then. _The dragon closed its eyes as if in sleep and the elf turned back to look at it. The dragon was not really asleep but he was pretending to be. For a long moment the elf could say nothing. The dragon, as usual thought the elf with a little amusement, was right and he had allowed himself to think too far ahead.

_Yes._ said the elf.

They would wait.

They would wait for Eragon and Saphira. They had waited this long and they could wait a little longer. They would wait for this strange new power to reveal itself and, above all, they would wait until it was time to exact a heavy price from Galbatorix. Yes, they would wait and in time all would be elf looked out in the direction of Farthen Dür and he could not help the shiver as he remembered that power. It had been a strange kind of power, one unlike anything he had ever touched before.

_The world_, thought the ancient elf, _is changing. Things are remembering and wakening...things will never be the same. _

* * *

><p>"Eragon!" the voice commanded him.<p>

It came again: "Eragon!" There was a trace of exasperation in that voice as if the owner was nearing the end of their patience. "Wake!" Shifting slightly he found himself more than a little reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort of the deep sleep he had found himself in. The voice came again from somewhere above him. "Rise, Argetlam!" With a reluctant groan, he forced his eyes open and found himself gazing a high, cream colored ceiling. He was lying in a soft bed and the warm light of morning fell across the crisp white sheets. Angela the Herbalist was sitting beside the bed in a chair. The healer was staring at him intently with those mysterious eyes of hers, "How do you feel?" she asked.

Disorientated and confused to find himself in this peaceful, light filled place, he did not quite know what to say in response to that question. He wasn't sure just how he felt. There was pain, a pounding headache, a nauseous feeling from his stomach and a weakness in his limbs that was strange. All in all he was unsure of just how to convey all of this in a way that would not make him sound weak and complaining. Someone had removed his armor and dressed him a soft, cream colored tunic.

"No idea," Eragon finally managed to croak out. His mouth was dry and sore, another thing to add to a growing list of things that he was feeling.

"Don't, whatever you do, move. You need save your energy for other things," said Angela. Examining her a little more closely, the young Rider saw that she still wore her armor and that dark shadows ringed her eyes. Her curly red hair was even more crazed and stuck out at odd angles from her head. A fit of coughing suddenly struck him and made him dizzy, lightheaded, and a shooting pain from his back briefly blinded him. With a gasp, Eragon clenched his hands beneath the sheets and squeezed his eyes shut as the pain slowly faded.

A gentle hand stroked his cheek and he felt the edge of a glass on his lips. "Drink," commanded Angela. Unquestioning, Eragon obeyed and a warm, slightly spicy liquid ran down his throat. It warmed him and the pain slowly receded, leaving him feeling twice as weak but a little better.

Opening his eyes he gazed up at the Herbalist, "What happened?" Vague images of the battle returned to him. The Urgals, Durza and then...Saphira. He would have leapt from the bed right that second if he could have as he gasped out, "Saphira!" He went to push himself upright but the same pain from before returned and he was forced to lie still.

Angela rested a hand on his shoulder. "They lived," assured Angela gently, "and they have been waiting for you to awaken. Do you wish to see them?" He managed to nod his head briefly.

What had happened? The last thing he remembered was Saphira falling, flames and Zoe's desperate voice. Then that darkness and that presence whose words had called him back to the land of the living. Angela threw open the door. Arya, Murtagh, Brom and then Zoe filed inside. Saphira snaked her giant blue head into the room after them, her body too big to fit through the doorway of the healing room. Her chest vibrated as she hummed deeply, eyes sparkling in a mixture of joy and relief.

A smile unconsciously found its way onto Eragon's face as he touched her thoughts. For a moment they merely shared in the combined relief, gratitude and joy.

_It is good to see you awake little one_, she said tenderly.

_And you too, but how-?_

_The others want to explain it, so I will let them._

_You breathed fire!_

_Yes_, she said with a toothy grin and not a little pride.

He turned his attention to the four people who were all watching him closely. Arya, Zoe and Murtagh were bandaged: Arya and Zoe on their arms and Murtagh on his head. They all looked exhausted, with dark shadows under their eyes and Eragon had never thought Brom had looked more aged then he did right then.

Murtagh grinned and said with a smirk, "About time you were awake. I was getting tired sitting in that corridor."

"Murtagh!" said Zoe with a smile. "You don't say that to a person when they've just come back from death's doorstep!"

"What happened?" asked Eragon with a faint smile. "I don't remember much."

"You wouldn't," said Brom. The old Rider was gazing at his son with a mix of worry, relief and irritation that is born of that worry and relief. "You were barely alive for the last few days."

"Days?" asked Eragon confusedly. Had it really been days since the battle?

"Three," said Arya from beside Brom. "The Varden are calling you a hero."

"Without you," said Zoe with a warm smile, "we would not have defeated them."

Eragon opened his mouth to ask another question but Brom, seeing that Eragon was growing impatient for more information, cut him off. "When you defeated Durza, the Shade's spirits were released as well and this broke the enchantment he had cast of the Urgals to unite them. Without magic they turned against each other and clans started to fight clans. After that it was an easy matter for the Varden to finish them and the battle ended in our favor."

"We routed them!" cried Murtagh with a jubilant smile. Both Zoe and Arya looked sad, their eyes remembering the sights of the battle and the many dead men who still lay on the field of battle. But Murtagh was above all of this and his grin was broad.

"They're all dead?" asked Eragon as he smiled back slightly.

"No," said Zoe. "Many of them were able to escape into the tunnels and the Varden have been searching for them these last few days. Ajihad worries that they may attack the Varden if they are not dealt with. Murtagh and I returned this morning after we received our various injuries. Murtagh got a bang to the head and I cracked a bone."

Looking over at Arya and Saphira, Eragon asked. "How come you and Saphira did not crash? I still don't remember much of that just you two falling and…" he trailed off as he looked at the elf.

Arya met his gaze and said slowly, "There was no time from when we landed and I tried to remove Sahira's armor and the time when Durza attacked you and Zoe. Durza would have either killed the two of you or taken you active if I had used Vol Turin." Arya stopped and a look of regret and sorrow passed over her face as she continued, "So I broke the star sapphire and Saphira carried me down."

Eragon was forced to close his eyes as another wave of pain mixed with nausea and light-headness struck him. When he opened his eyes he saw expressions of concern on all those present. Trying to ease their worries he said, "But how come the pieces did not hit either you or me?"

Giving him another look of deep concern, Arya said, "I didn't allow them to. I lowered them to the floor just before they struck it." Her words made Eragon stare at the elf in shock. She had done what? That was feat of magic few would ever dare attempt or even think.

Angela sent the elf a poisonous glare and said sourly, "Yes and nearly killed yourself in the process. You're as bad as an elfling who has to stick their nose into everything simply because they can!"

"Perhaps," said Zoe with a diplomatic smile, "we should leave Eragon to rest. He has just recovered after all."

"Good idea," said Angela snappily. The witch rose from her chair and sent Brom a stern look, "Stay with him. I will return later."

"Of course," said Brom with an incline of his head and, with a toss of those red curls, the petite, red-headed woman left the room closing the door softly behind her. Zoe, Murtagh and Arya left right after promising to see him later and Eragon was left with Saphira and his father. Eragon felt tired, it would be easy to slip off to sleep in the comfortable bed. Perhaps he should after all, no one needed him in his current condition.

"You do not know how close you came to dying," said Brom wearily taking Angela's vacated chair. The man looked like he had gained more than one grey hair in the last few days.

"What did Durza do?" asked Eragon as a feeling of trepidation crept into him. Suddenly, unable to wait for Brom's response, Eragon managed to push himself upright. He ignored Brom's worried look and half movement to help him or Saphira's protest. The pain and weakness hit him again but he weathered it as he reached his arm around to feel his back.

"Eragon..." said Brom warningly but the Rider had already felt it. The start of a half-inch wide scar that stretched from his right shoulder to his opposite hip. Horror mixed with shock filled him as he sang back down into the bed and closed his eyes.

_The price_, thought Eragon, was high. _Too high._

_Little one_, said Saphira worriedly.

"Eragon?" asked Brom again, this time the worry was plain in his voice as he no longer tried to hide it.

"I'm fine," said Eragon honestly. For, as he had come to realize, he was fine. The words of the figure in white on the cliffs came back to him: _follow Arya. _He had a purpose, a place to go for answers and help. No, he may bear a scar but that did not mean he could not be the Rider the Varden needed. Enjoying the feeling of Saphira's comforting presence he sent his father a smile. "Really I think I just want to sleep."

Brom nodded and settled back in the chair, "Then do." Eragon was just drifting off when Brom said softly, "Selena would have been proud of you."

_Yes, _thought Eragon as sleep claimed him, _it won't be easy but it's too late to go back. Besides I'm not sure I want to any more._

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><p><em><strong>Revised: 127/2013**_

_**Booklover19! You have been one step ahead of me! I just revised both the pre-battle and battle chapter...I'm rather proud of my mirror-mirror-on-the-wall scene in the pre-battle one...these revisions are kind of fun :) I understand that my decision in the previous chapter is a bit controversial. But, to be honest, it isn't a very radical shift. You have actually been reading it (for the most part) in all of my revised chapters. When I write that is the way it comes out on the page and it goes against my natural style to constantly be changing it. I have actually been forcing myself to write that way in my other story, City of Verity, but since I began Zoe so long ago and that decision was made a year ago it seemed like too much work to change twenty chapters to another style and it has become part of Zoe's character when I write her. As far as school and FF accounts - no worries! I just thought then I would be able to PM you instead of leaving these little messages at the bottom of the chapter but whatever works for you also works for me. I understand about school...I attend one of those! try balancing it with a competitive sport schedule...ah the pure craziness that is my life! Writing is one of my stress releases and so I make some time for it :) easier for me now that my Departmental exams for Semester 1 are over! But I am very sympathetic about the pressure to be a academic all-star...Happy reading to you :) -luckyponygirl**_


	30. To Change Fate

Eragon stepped around the twisted and charred body of an Urgal, only half-listening to the sounds of women grieving as they searched the battle field for the bodies of loved ones. Behind him walked Saphira, who was doing her best to avoid stepping on the bodies of men and Urgals. The glittering blue of her scales was the only color in the gloom that filled the hollow mountain. Even the city of Tronjehiem seemed dimmed. Many of the streets were dark and the lights of lanterns were spread out across the city. It was a poor comparison to the city it had been when he had first arrived - then Tronjheim had shone with thousands of lights.

_Six days, _thought Eragon since the battle and yet the battlefield still looked as if the battle had raged the previous day. The sheer number of Urgal bodies had meant that the Varden was forced to burn them. No honored resting place for them. Instead a fire had been built at one end of the hollow mountain and the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

It was also six days since he had challenged Durza with Zoe by his side. Three since the destruction of the star sapphire. Three since he had woken to find his wound healed. It had been three days since the mysterious figure who had saved him and three since people had begun to call him 'Shadeslayer.' A title that would once have made him feel strong and proud but now made him feel heavy. The price of that act was only now making itself apparent - since Angela had allowed him up and about he had tried to assist in the recovery. On each and every occasion, even if the act was as small as picking up a broken sword, he had experienced a dull ache that would increase in intensity until he stopped and rested. The pain came from his new scar and, while Angela and Arya had been unable to find anything wrong with him, Zoe had been able to explain it to him.

The pain, she had told him, was a curse left by the Shade. According to her the attacks were not as serious as they had been in the history she knew but she could not say whether or not they would increase in severity as time passed. The reason, she thought, was because she had protected him with her own shield the minute Durza was destroyed and this had prevented the Shade from worsening the curse his death had layed on Eragon. Her only piece of advice was to limit his physical activity as much as possible and, as he was still very much recovering, it was not as hard as it might have been.

Eragon stopped and glanced around. He was in the centre of the battlefield and he was still unsure of why he had come here. Perhaps it was the desire to see the destruction and the pain that had been unleashed here or maybe just to confirm that the battle was truly over. He did not know nor was he sure he really wanted to know. The ground he stood on was moist with blood and in some places the bodies were piled on top of each other. Eragon had come to the conclusion that whether you were a man or a dwarf or an Urgal you died the same. Death was an equalizer of the most powerful kind.

At one point, it seemed so long ago now, he may have been destroyed by the carnage that lay around him. Now, instead of horrifying him, it numbed him to the core. This numbness allowed him to sleep at night, to walk among the bodies like he did now and to speak of the battle without shivering in recollection. To reach this state of mind had taken Saphira's help as well as the words of Zoe and Arya but, as he found out from them, the only way to keep his sanity was to keep busy. If there was one thing he had learned from this battle it was that the stories of glorious war were as far from the truth as it was possible to get. The only glory or honor was in saving innocent lives in the future. If he had to fight a thousand wars he would do it for the peace that would follow.

Glancing back at the city he thought of his friends and father. Zoe and Arya were probably embroiled in a council to help get the Varden back on its feet. His young friend had proved very capable in organizing supplies, messages and other details while Arya also assisted in the healing of soldiers. Brom was most likely assisting them as well as providing leadership while Ajihad continued to ferret out Urgals who had escaped in the dwarf tunnels. Murtagh had returned to the patrols the previous day - though Zoe had been strangely worried about it. In fact Zoe had been strangely on edge for the past few days and, while Eragon put it down to the battle, he was unsure if there was more to it than that.

Then there was the drama of Nasuada that occurred two days previously. Ajihad's daughter had remained behind to fight in the battle and her father's anger had been nearly as fierce as a dragon's when roused. Zoe had later confided to him that she had known of Nasuada's plan but had not wanted to deny the other woman the chance to fight for her people. While Eragon still struggled with the concept of a woman in battle his time with both Zoe and Arya had shown that gender was no hinderance for skill. He smiled inwardly at what Zoe would have said had she known his thoughts.

_I will be leaving soon_, thought Eragon. It was true; he had already made plans with Arya to leave within the next week. He had yet to see if Zoe would accompany him. Brom had told him that he would be remaining with the Varden and Murtagh would most likely remain with him. Things were still too vague and undefined but Eragon already knew he would miss his father and his half-brother. He had grown used to having them by his side. Not to mention Zoe.

_You will still have me. _said Saphira in his mind. The dragon and Rider continued their walk through the fields of the dead.

_I know _he said with a smile, _but it will be strange not to have Brom around or Murtagh or Zoe. I've grown used to having them watching my back and offering advice. _

_You will meet up with them again. _

_Maybe but that does not make any less strange. _Skirting the body of a dead horse, Eragon stopped again and wondered idly if he should return to the city. He could not suppress the feeling of dread. Returning meant facing the Varden and pretending he was stronger than he really was.

The feeling of another mind reaching out to touch his made Eragon tighten the barriers he had kept around him since the battle. _Eragon, _the voice of Brom echoed through the link and Eragon lowered his boundries to allow his father to speak better to him.

_What? _asked the Rider. Through their bond he knew Saphira was listening to their conversation.

_Ajihad is returning along with Murtagh. Meet me and the others at the west gate of Tronjheim. _

_Saphira and I will be there. _Carefully scrambling onto Saphira's back he did not bother with the straps as the dragon took flight and began to angle towards the gate. Eragon smiled slightly, he was certain that without Saphira's constant support these last few days he would not have survived. If anything his injury and the events surrounding it had only deepened their bond.

As Eragon and Saphira rounded Tronjheim, a small group became visible against the white marble of the city walls. Among them was the dwarf, Orik, who was impatiently shifting from leg to leg and holding his axe tightly in one hand. Beside him was Arya, looking aloof and calmly regal. The white bandage around her arm gleamed in the light cast by one of the dwarven lights. Zoe was not there, to Eragon's surprise, but Brom was along with Jormünder.

Saphira landed beside the small group and they exchanged greetings. Voicing a question, Eragon asked. "Where is Zoe? I thought she would be here."

Brom shrugged, "I have not seen her for the last few hours nor have I been able to contact her. She must be busy somewhere else."

Nodding Eragon and the others fell silent. He and Saphira spoke of little, inconsequential things merely enjoying each others presence and words in the privacy of their minds and bond.

It was then that they saw the shape of figures in the tunnel...

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><p>I stood in the shadow of the entrance to the tunnel. My plan was simple: stay hidden and let the group of warriors leave the tunnel, warn Murtagh with my mind and then intercept the Urgals before they could completely overrun the group and stay as close to Murtagh as possible. If Ajihad survived then he did. If he did not then I would worry about that later. There were forces at work that were far more powerful than me and Ajihad's fate was in their hand.<p>

I gripped my bow even tighter with my sweaty hands. Where were they? The longer I stood here the more nervous I got. I had no idea of how long I been there nor did it really matter. All that mattered was what was coming and the game of fate I was about to play – that I was playing.

As I waited in the shadows, I thought back over the last few days. Since Eragon had woken I had been swept into the inner workings of the Varden and I had found myself remembering more and more of my previous life. Making lists of supplies, organizing this and that had been a familiar part of my routine as princess and then commander in my home. The intricacies of diplomacy and the organizing of an army was nothing strange to me but it was exhausting.

The Council of Elders, a group of Varden leaders, was also less than keen to see Brom, who was acting for Ajihad until he returned, hand over so much power to a relatively unknown quadrant. I may be a hero in the eyes of the people but I was a usurper to the Council. They had grudgingly moved aside and allowed me the freedom I needed to act.

To my surprise and relief I found that King Hrothgar was more than willing to work with me. Because the Varden and dwarves were so interconnected it had required that any decision made regarding supplies, weapons and ect. had to include the dwarves. I met with the dwarf king three times and on all three occasions I left feeling like I had managed to accomplish something. Hrothgar was a cunning and effective leader who was more than open to listening to me and my suggestions. It was refreshing and I think I even managed to turn some of his wary and stubborn advisors to my side.

Then there was Eragon. I had held onto the faint hope that, somehow, Durza's awful curse had been avoided but that hope was quickly dashed. However, there was no point wishing things would go easier for Eragon. In some was this was a good thing and there was nothing I could do to change it. Nothing any of us, from Angela to Arya to Brom to me, did had helped Eragon at all. So for the last few days Eragon had mostly stayed with Saphira in an empty guard room on the upper levels or flying within the city mountain. He would meet up with me, Arya and Brom usually in the evening. In other words: he remained as far as possible from the adoring, cheering crowds of the Varden.

I was forced to smile ever so slightly as my thoughts drifted to Nasuada. In preparation for whatever occurred in the future, I had included her in many of the meetings and discussions I had been a part of during the last few days. Nasuada had also been assigned too many tasks by Brom, who already respected and sympathized with her and the challenges she faced. Not everyone, namely the Council of Elders, had been pleased by this development. Nor had Ajihad been at all pleased to discover what Nasuada had been up to during the battle.

Enough of that now. You must be wondering exactly I am. I have already told you that I am in the entrance of the west tunnel but not what this tunnel and the ground outside looks like. As terrain is a rather important thing when planning for a fight I shall do my best to describe my surroundings to you.

This particular tunnel was quite tall – maybe fifteen or so feet tall and was the most used by dwarves coming from the dwarven cities in the west. It was wide enough for three or four horses to walk abreast quite comfortably. The ground rose up in a gentle slant to the entrance and then leveled out as you left it. The gently glowing lights that the dwarves used were placed every few feet along the wall. A few rocks littered the ground and I made careful note of them so I would not trip. There is one key thing you should know: there was a sharp corner about fifty feet inside the tunnel before it straightened out and led to the surface. This corner created a convient way of ambushing someone from behind (sound familiar?).

I was nestled in a nook created by door and the wall. The shadows here were thick and I had not moved from this place for the last hour or so. I forced myself to stay relaxed and I occasionally flexed my muscles to try and keep them ready for the upcoming fight.

In the last few days I had done my best to create a plan that was simple and yet answered three important problems. The first was that there was still one Twin alive who would no doubt want revenge on the Varden. I suspected that he would be part of this mission and so I had to contend with a magic user. Problem number two was that this was a 'protect Murtagh' mission but actually doing that was another matter entirely. I would have to be quick on my feet and make sure he knew to be watching for an attack – whether it was a physical or mental one. Problem number three was Ajihad. In many ways, despite how horrible it sounds reader, I would rather he died. Nusauda was the leader the Varden leader for the upcoming trials. Yet, I could not reconcile myself with not trying to do all I could to save him.

As I mentioned before, my plan was to warn Murtagh and make sure that I was close to him and Ajihad when they attacked. I did not want to become surrounded by Urgals because, frankly, I probably could not survive that. So I was going to wait until the last possible moment and hope like mad it worked.

It was then that I began to sense conciousnesses coming towards me from the dark depths of the tunnel. A quick check confirmed that they were indeed the party of warriors that included both Murtagh and Ajihad. My hand tightened around my bow and I silently drew an arrow out of my quiver. My heart beat sped up and I felt the tingling rush of adrenalin as it began to course through my viens. I rolled my shoulders a few times and prepared myself as best I could for what was to come.

It was then that the group rounded the corner and I saw Murtagh near the centre and Ajihad was in front. Quickly sending out my mind I found the Urgals not far behind. A little farther back I found the heavily armored mind of the twin. A little spark of anger rose inside of me as I touched his slimy and nasty mind.

Bringing my mind back to the rapidly approaching group, I slipped into both Murtagh's and Ajihad's minds and, without speaking to them; I filled their senses with a feeling of impending doom. I had done this before Eragon and Brom were attacked by the Raz'ac so long ago outside of Dras'Leona. It had worked there and it worked again. My warning made the already wary Murtagh and battle hardened Ajihad instantly double the defenses around their minds and grip their sword hilts all the tighter as they readied themselves for whatever was coming. I could not stop myself from sending a similar warning to all those in the group. I was not as selfish or cold-blooded as to deny them the same warning as I gave Murtagh. They all deserved to live but I could protect all of them and so this would have to do.

The group of warriors passed by my hiding place just as the Urgals reached the sharp corner. I slowed my breathing and sent a quick prayer to whoever listened to them. This was it.

The warriors were almost all the way outside when the Urgals surged from behind and sending a final burst of warning to Murtagh, I raised my bow and fired. The silver shaft found its mark in the neck of one of the Urgals and a second quickly removed another one of the creatures.

I heard the sounds of warnings and shouts coming from the men but the Urgals were already on me. Whipping out my sword I quickly stepped back into the light of the tunnel which blinded the Urgals as they left the dark shadows of the tunnel. However, this advantage did not last for long and within moments I was surrounded by a mix of Varden soldiers and Urgals. No one had time or desire to ask 'where I had just come from.' Which was awesome because fighting was what we all needed to concentrate on then we could deal with questions – as long as we were all alive.

I saw Murtagh a little ways to my right and I did my best to fight my way to him. He sent me a confused look but there was no time for words and so we found ourselves fighting together, our swords flashing beside one another as we fought the Urgals. Ajihad was obscured by the Urgals but there was little time to wonder if he was still alive or not.

It was then that I felt the touch of that twin's mind. The awful feeling of that touch made me react as strongly as I had ever reacted to the touch of another's mind. I literally punched his daylights out with my own mind and the pain of the blow sent the twin scrambling behind his barriers. However, the twin was not as strong as I had suspected. He must be severely weakened after the death of his brother.

Slashing an Urgal through the heart I sent another mental attack towards the twin and this time I crushed his barriers ruthlessly. Let me tell you dear reader I took multi-tasking to another whole level. I was still surrounded by Urgals, still had to fight as hard as I could and make sure Murtagh stayed safe but I was also taking control over the twin. A well aimed smack with my bow to the side of the head followed by a slash of my sword finished off an Urgul. At the same time another mental attack knocked the twin out.

It was then, as happens in many small but intense fights, everything is over. Murtagh was standing beside me, we were both panting hard and both our blades were stained red with Urgal blood. I saw four Urgals, who had managed to survive, running back into the tunnel. A quick glance around showed me that Murtagh and I were surrounded by both the bodies of both men and Urgals. Without really considering what I was doing I sent Murtagh a quick glance and said. "Stay here!"

He opened his mouth to say something but I did not wait. Instead I leapt forward and back into the dark mouth of the tunnel. My sword glowed slightly and by its light I saw the quickly retreating backs of the Urgals. Running as fast as I could I followed them but they were far faster than I was. As I rounded the corner I saw the limp body of the twin slumped against the wall. The Urgals had left him behind in their haste to escape.

I came to a sliding stop in front of the unconscious man. It was then that I saw that the Urgals had decided to put an end to him as they made their escape. They must have decided that he was a useless extra to carry with them as they tried to outrun the Varden. A crude black Urgal blade had been thrown through his heart and the blood was staining the white of his already filthy and bloodstained clothes.

I did not know what to do. Looking at the dead man before me it was hard, so hard reader, to see the kind of man who was so hungry for power he would betray thousands. Shaking my head I wiped my sword clean and sheathed it. I had to return to the others and see if Ajihad had made it through or not. Turning away I hurried away from the dead body and the chill of death that hung around it. The fate of the twins was a reminder that greed and a lust for power never ended happily.

I stopped briefly at the two Urgals I had killed with my arrows to retrieve those shafts before heading back outside. Those arrows were from my old home and I could not bear to just discard them like regular arrows.

The familiar stench of death greeted me as I emerged and saw a few of the soldiers who had managed to survive checking the bodies of those who had not in the hopes they might still live. Over half of the warriors who had ridden with Ajihad had not survived the attack despite my warnings. Of the four dwarven guides who had been with them I only saw one standing.

However, those were not the ones I was most worried about. I searched for Murtagh and saw him cleaning his blade beside Saphira. He looked relatively unharmed but it was then that my eyes fell on the group huddled beside a body.

A cold chill crept over my heart and the world flashed in front of my eyes as I realized just what had happened. My suspicion was confirmed as I saw the identical expressions of grief, pain and horror on Arya, Eragon and Broms faces. For, lying on the dark ground surrounded by dead Urgals and the bodies of the men who had tried to protect him, was Ajihad of the Varden.


	31. Outcomes

_**This is a pretty big chapter but I hope its ok and you enjoy it! As always thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and favorited this story. With a little luck I will get some chapters posted pronto pronto! Once again: thank you soooo much! ;) luckyponygirl **_

* * *

><p>Now I want to hit the pause button for a second. Yes, yes I know this is a moment filled with tension, horror, grief, pain and lots of other explosive emotions but I think you need a little filling in. So let's pretend that everything has stopped for a second and your trusty guide, me, is giving you a little information about your visit to this lovely, charming, violent world that is also known as Alagaesia. Settle back and get comfortable because in my whole little run-down earlier I forgot to tell you something. Something you really need to know so that you don't start hating me.<p>

First off: Ajihad is a pretty awesome leader. He knows how to inspire his men to fight even when they know they will most likely end up dead on the battle field. He knows how to be a diplomat and he can duel with words as well as with a sword. Not only that but he is a pretty great father and a loyal friend. In other words: if there were more Ajihad's in the world we would not have half the problems we do.

Now why, you the confused and irritated reader asks, is this important? This whole little thing is disruptive and annoying. Well I beseech you from the depths of my heart to listen and try and see the whole situation from my view. Because I am feeling about as guilty as it is possible to get. In fact take that amount of guilt and multiply it by a thousand and then add on greif and all the rest of it. It makes for one super ugly mess and here is the kicker – it was my fault, my choice and my actions that had led to this moment. I had told myself that saving Murtagh was priority but that Ajihad's fate was a key part of this entire story. It was his death that led Nasuada to the position of leader. I had seen how protective he was of Nasuada and there was no way he would ever allow her the freedom she would need to do what she had to do for the Varden. Ajihad could not be the leader that the Varden needed in the coming battles. He lacked the charismatic courage of his daughter who, unlike her father, had not been chilled by decades of fighting a seemingly hopeless cause.

No, I had chosen to allow Ajihad's fate to play out as it will. It had been a choice which I both accepted and hated with all my heart. Yet, while my reasons were sound, my conscience told me that I had as good as murdered Ajiahd. I knew that saving Ajihad would have drastically changed the future. Yet knowing and believing are two different things and so, in the days leading up to this moment, I had spent most of my time trying to forget just what I was about to do. My choice to do all I could to save Murtagh had a selfish aspect to it that I could not forget. I may have thought saving him would be a good thing but it was also because I did not want to think of him under the cruel influence of Galbatorix.

But now you know. My choices have been made. The dice cast and the pieces on the board have moved forward. By saving Murtagh I failed to save Ajihad. By saving Murtagh I have changed the path on which this world walks. My reasons: to give Nasuada the chance she needs to become a leader meant the death of her father.

Now you maybe understand a little more. At least I hope so. I hope you understand that I am only a girl who made a choice, a gamble, and finds that no matter the result she would have hated it anyways. I would have hated myself for saving Ajihad but not Murtagh. I would have hated myself for saving both and risking the lives of uncounted billions of innocent by-standers. I hate myself for saving Murtagh but failing Ajihad.

I hope that you know that no matter how powerful or clever I appear it is only an illusion. I am a girl who is scared, who is out of her element and who is trying to make choices that will affect more than just her. I may be a good hand with weapons, gifted with a royal title and bloodline, friends with some of the most powerful people in this world and my own but I'm not that different from you in a lot of ways.

Alright, that's all I wanted to say. We can hit the play button again and we'll pretend this little explanation never happened. You can get back to reading and I can get back to the moment – I'll keep telling you everything and you'll keep silent. Maybe one day we'll meet and you can tell me exactly what you think of all this over a cup of Starbucks. Or maybe you'll just keep silent, keep watching and then just shut this book and walk away. I don't mind either way but I wanted you to understand – to know.

My heart was in my throat. I suddenly could not move or breathe or speak or do anything but stare at the scene in front of me. _What have I done? _I asked myself again and again. _What have you done Zoe? _The words pounded through my mind with all the force of a stampeding herd of elephants. The scene in front of me was too familiar, too awful for me to truly take it all in.

Suddenly I found myself moving. In what seemed no time at all I was kneeling beside Arya and Brom staring at the dead man in front of me. Ajihad's noble, dark face was set in a calm mask. If not for the blood and the death surrounding him you could almost have said he was sleeping. His armor was rent with numerous tears and his sword had been broken half way down the blade.

I look to Brom and met his shocked, grief filled eyes. In a soft, almost accusing voice he asked. "Did you know?"

I bent my head and felt the tears rise as I fought to speak. "Yes," I whispered hoarsely, "I knew. I knew and I tried but…" I couldn't finish my voice died as raw, cold failure filled me.

Brom sighed, "It doesn't matter." Yet it mattered so much and I could not forget that. Brom's voice, it seemed so far away, came again. "Eragon remember what he told you."

"I will," said Eragon numbly.

Arya rested a hand on my shoulder and pushed herself upright. "The wounded and the dead must be cared for." Her voice seemed to echo far longer than it should have.

I rose beside her, my eyes never leaving Ajihad's face. "Yes," I managed to say. I forced myself upright and looked at Murtagh who was still standing beside Saphira. Our eyes met and I saw in their dark depths a question. It was a question that I was sure I would be answering many times in the next few days. _What was supposed to happen? Why? _

The next few hours passed in a blur of sound and motion. I was distantly aware of Brom taking temporary command of the Varden and of the out-pouring of grief when the news of Ajihad's death spread. I knew that Jormunder along with a company of warriors arrived not long after and that I informed him of the dead Twin and the Urgal's escape into the tunnels. Yet my body was just going through the motions, my emotions just under control as I placed a blank mask on my face.

I do not consciously remember walking to the citadel or why I decided to return to my own room but I did. It was there, in the quiet, tastefully decorated room that had once belonged to Glenwing, one of Arya's elven companions, that I tried to come to terms with everything. I did it by lying on my bed, still armed and in my blood spattered clothes and going over, with methodical care, every single reason and act that had led me to this moment. No one disturbed my careful ordering of events and reasons until the light in the hollow mountain dimmed and became dusky. By that time I had come to a fragile peace with myself and my actions.

It was then that I heard a knock on my door. The sound startled me for I had been lost among my memories and thoughts. Quickly gathering myself together I said, "Come in." I pushed myself upright and swung my legs over the edge of the bed so my feet rested on the floor. It was then that the door opened to show Murtagh and behind him was Brom. The two of them had similar looks of concern and they looked at me as if worried I might suddenly break down in tears or order them to leave. Had I not been so miserable I might have found it rather amusing.

"Brom," I said quietly, "Murtagh."

Murtagh moved forward and sat down on the edge of bed beside me. Tentatively and with a shy kind of look in his eyes he placed one arm around my shoulders and, when I did not protest, he drew me closer into his embrace until I was leaning my head on his shoulder. Brom sat down on a spare chair and gazed at me, his eyes unreadable. Finally, his voice sounding strained in the silence, Brom said, "What will happen now Zoe?"

His question was simple but so complex that I did not even know where to begin. Finally I decided on a course of action. "I do not know Brom. I do not know. We walk on untried ground. Already things have changed." I thought of Elva, the child who had yet to be blessed/cursed by Eragon. That was another key player who had been removed from my meddling – at least so far that was how it looked. What to do about that was a complete mystery to me. Elva was the reason Nasuada was not killed by assassins multiple times.

"How was it supposed to have gone?" asked Murtagh softly. I closed my eyes as I remembered the plot line – or what remains of the plot line after I scrambled it.

"You were supposed to be captured and taken to Galbatorix by the Twins. Ajihad died and Nasuada took control of the Varden." _Which then, _I thought, _made you into a dragon rider and a traitor. It also resulted in you falling in love with Nasuada and finally letting go of your fury. All in all it's a pretty grim fate you got. _

"Well then," said Brom in a business like way, "we will just have to try and keep everything going according to plan."

I stared at him. Of all the things I had expected him to say that was not one of them and nor did his 'bring it on' attitude seem appropriate for the circumstances. "What?" I asked. "How do you intend to do that?"

"I do not want to remain leader of the Varden but I can force the Council of Elders to choose Nasuada as my replacement." Brom drew out his pipe and happily began to puff away at it as if this was just another day in the office.

I nodded, too stunned by his words to say anything and for a long moment there was nothing but silence until Brom spoke again. "You cannot blame yourself for Ajihad's death Zoe. Despite everything you know you will not be able to save everyone."

I smiled grimly, "I know Brom. I know all to well."

Brom nodded and stood, "I never thought it possible but the tasks I must attend to has only doubled now. The Varden are reeling now from two great losses and the dwarves are as stubborn as the marble they carve when it comes to what will be done about Ajihad's death. This is why I left the Varden." The old man rose from the chair and made his way to the door only to stop and gaze back at Murtagh and I. "Zoe," he stopped and then continued, "you must make a choice regarding where you will go as the Varden prepares to move towards open combat."

I nodded but said nothing and so Brom, with one last concerned look, left and closed the door quietly behind him. Murtagh and I were still for a long time until he said, "What would have happened to me? I know you said I would have been taken to Galbatorix but what then?"

I looked out the window. It was approaching dinner time and yet I was not hungry or even that sleepy. "You would have been forced into his service. What happens then is not something I wish to delve into. Your fate has changed."

"Ah," said Murtagh and he pulled me closer. "So you saved me?"

"Yes," I whispered. I buried my face in his tunic, he must have changed it for this one was clean and soft not grimy from the tunnels and the fight afterwards. His sword was still at his side but he no longer carried his bow and he must have had a bath for he smelled fresh and clean. For a few long seconds I just breathed in his scent and tried to find the words for what I wanted to convey. "I choose to save you. But Murtagh" I paused and raised my eyes to his dark, unreadable ones. "You must promise me you will do all you can to safe-guard yourself. I do not want you to be captured by the Empire later on."

He smiled ever so slightly, "I'll do my best Zoe. I have no wish to loose my freedom ever. Now come on," he rose and pulled me upright, "dinner is soon if we have not already missed it."

I nodded and said, "I should also inform Eragon of the hailstorm he is about to be caught in."

"What?" asked Murtagh with a smirk. "What kind of hailstorm?"

"One created by the Council of Elders in their desperate bid to secure him and by extension Nasuada."

"Why not let him walk into it? He has to learn politics sooner than later."

"Because," I said as we left my room and navigated the sitting room, "it would be better for his future independence if he found a way of avoiding the position they will force him into. I'm not going to give him all the answers but enough that he does not find himself in a corner with no way out."

Murtagh stopped me just before the door that led to outside chamber, "Zoe," he said very seriously and I was slightly stunned to see the level of compassion and love that sparkled in his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you for saving me today. I know how difficult it is for you to change the future but I could not imagine losing my freedom to Galbatorix."

I smiled; the first true smile I had managed that day. Suddenly everything seemed a little easier to bear. "Don't mention it Murtagh," I felt my nose begin to itch – the first sign of tears - but before I could say anymore Murtagh opened the door and led me out into the corridor.

As we walked down the corridor I made a mental list of what I needed to accomplish. It was a daunting list but if I was going to go meddling with fate this was a minor detail.

* * *

><p>Eragon roused himself and rolled to the edge of the bed. From his horizontal view he examined the white walled room he had been given to share with Saphira. Since the destruction of the star sapphire he and Saphira had moved to an empty guard room near the top of the city. A wide balcony at the end of the corridor allowed Saphira the room she needed to take off but the place was far enough removed that few ventured down this particular corridor. The room itself was high ceilinged with large windows that overlooked the eastern side of the city. It was a nice enough place and just large enough for Saphira's bulk to fit comfortably.<p>

A glance at his still sleeping dragon made he young Rider smile. Since using fire for the first time Saphira had been justifiably proud of herself. She could now summon a blustering inferno and used every occasion to flaunt it. As she slept he could see flames flickering within her wide nostrils and the occasional puff of smoke made the air inside the room a little hazy.

Pushing himself upright Eragon stretched his tight muscles. His peaceful mood quickly evaporated as he remembered the events of the previous day. Remembering Ajihad's death and the outpouring of grief that resulted was not the only thing the Rider thought of. For, while he had respected the leader of the Varden, he was not close enough to mourn his loss as he would a close friend. The loss of Ajihad therefore was a loss that hurt and numbed him but not as severely as the loss of Brom or Zoe or Murtagh would have.

He grimaced as he remembered how things stood the previous night: Orik rushing off to give King Hrothgar the tidings, Jormundur taking Ajihad's body to place where it would rest until the funeral, and Arya who stood alone and watched the goings on. Brom had taken temporary leadership and Eragon had not seen where Zoe or Murtagh had gotten to. He knew that Murtagh had a minor injury from the skirmish in front of the tunnel but he had not spoken to his half-brother.

_I wonder where Zoe is, _thought Eragon. It was true. He had barely been aware of her presence the previous day and yet Eragon also knew that she would most likely blame herself for Ajihad's death. _That is one burden I am glad not to have, _thought Eragon grimly.

Saphira gave a small puff of smoke and stretched her front talons as she awoke. The warmth and love that spread from her mind to his made the Rider smile. _Good morning little one. _

_The same to you Saphira. Anyone tried to contact us? _

_No. _she said with a contented puff of smoke. _I have been fast asleep. _For a moment the two of them basked in each other's comforting presence.

Eragon smiled and rose and pulled on some clean, dark grey clothes that had been left for him. He stopped in front of the mirror and gazed at his reflection. It was not the face he remembered from Carvahall or Teirm or even from a few days ago. The face in front of him was more angular, the eyes more shadowed and an air of heavy watchfulness seemed to hang around it. No, it was not the same face but that was a good thing. Eragon, the Eragon he was now, could not have kept the same childish dreams and soft features.

Turning away from the mirror, Eragon strapped on Zar'roc and his bow. The bow, a gift from Garrow, was looking a little worse for wear after the experiences of the last few months. Stepping towards the door Eragon felt the gentle touch of another mind on his heavily armored mind. It was a familiar touch.

Zoe's voice emanated from the link, _Eragon? _

_Zoe. _he greeted her.

_Would you meet me in the dining hall? The one closest to you? I need to speak to you and Saphira. _

_We will be there soon. _

With that she withdrew and Eragon and Saphira left their room. Together they made their way through Tronjheim, toward the nearest kitchen. It was still early enough that the corridors were mostly deserted but the few people they did see would bow to them and murmur "Argetlam" or "Shadeslayer." Even the dwarves made the motions, though not as often. The humans Eragon saw wore their grief openly – everyone wore black and many women had black, lace veils covering their faces.

As they walked the two discussed current matters. _I worry that the Varden may expect me to seize leadership. Remember Ajihad's words: to keep the Varden strong. It could be taken as his blessing to become its leader. _

_That does not seem like a wise path to take. We have to leave the Varden for Du Weldenvarden and we cannot govern it from afar. _

_No, I agree. Arya wouldn't approve and she could be a dangerous enemy. Who out of the Varden has the skill and determination though?_

_Brom does not want the position but he may be forced to take it if there is no worthy candidate. However, I think he would rather influence events from behind the scenes as he always has. _

_We will be forced to weigh in with our own opinion. I won't ignore the strength we have; we wield great power within the Varden. _

_Too little time has passed since we came to Varden for us to know what its other leaders are like. We will have to form an opinion on our feelings and impressions, without the benefit of history. _

They arrived at the kitchen a little while later and Eragon brought a platter of food to a low table. He had just sat down when Zoe appeared from one of the passages and walked towards him. She was dressed, as always, in her dark leather clothing and her weapons swung at her side. Her face was grave – Eragon though he had never seen her look so serious - yet, despite that, she looked remarkably unchanged. She could have dropped out of the sky only yesterday.

"Eragon," she greeted him. "Saphira," the blue dragoness hummed deeply as Zoe scratched her above her eyes.

"Zoe," said Eragon as he picked at his food. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yes," she said as she took a seat in front of him and then, to his surprise she switched to the Ancient Language as if she did not want anyone to eavesdrop. "I need to talk to you about the coming politics you are about to be embroiled in."

Mentally switching to the new language, Eragon said, "What needs to be said?"

Zoe reached out and slipped a piece of bread from his plate. In response to his raised eyebrow and amused laugh, she said defensively, "I haven't had any breakfast."

"Then go get some," said Eragon pointing at the kitchen. He could not stop from smirking as Zoe rolled her eyes.

"Back to more important matters," said the girl as she tried and failed to sound stern. "You are about to be embroiled in some pretty intense politics."

"This is about the leadership isn't it?" asked Eragon.

"Yes," said Zoe and any sign of amusement left her as her expression returned to a serious frown. "You and Saphira are going to have to deal with the Council of Elders. I told you about them." Eragon nodded, remembering Zoe's frustrated comments about the council. Zoe continued, "They are desperate to secure your loyalty. To do this they are going to suggest, or rather force you and Saphira into a corner, so that you support their choice of Nasuada. This, in their eyes, will make them appear more powerful. To ensure you do not back out they will force you to swear fealty to the Varden."

"Is Nasuada a good choice?" asked Eragon. He had forgotten about his food as he gazed intently at Zoe. The two of them were impervious to their surroundings as they discussed these matters.

"Yes," said Zoe. "She is and she will be no puppet. However you need to find a solution that prevents you from being forced to swear allegiance to either the Varden as a whole or Nasuada."

"So," said Eragon trying to make sure he understood exactly what Zoe was saying, "if I swear fealty to the Varden then the Council thinks they will have more control over me?"

"Check," said Zoe.

"If I swear to Nasuada then I will be her vassal and not truly independent?"

"Check."

"What should we do?" asked Eragon. The Rider was unable to keep the bite from his voice – the situation was too frustrating.

Zoe shrugged, "Make sure Brom is with you when you when you meet the Council. That should prevent them from doing anything to devious out of fear. If they do demand your loyalty, whether to increase moral or the strength of Nasuada's position, then try to establish that, while you support the choice, you will be unable to so publically declare it. You are stronger than any one fraction in the Varden right now. You can do as you wish but it would be unwise to make too many enemies within the Varden." She smiled bitterly, "It's a nasty situation all the way around."

"Why is me swearing fealty to Nasuada a problem? If she is a capable leader it should not have too many negative effects."

Zoe toyed with the pommel of her sword for a moment before responding. "It is a problem because you must remain independent of any one fraction. Even as we speak Hrothgar is considering the possibility of inviting you to join his clan – this would make you an honorary dwarf. If you become too tied down with responsibilities than your power as a Rider will be greatly reduced."

"Ah," said Eragon. He was troubled at Zoe's news regarding Hrothgar. How would he manage to avoid that one?

Before he could ask further questions Zoe spoke again. "I have two more subjects that need to be spoken about." Eragon and Saphira waited patiently as the girl paused. "The first is what happened yesterday and the second is regarding who will travel with you to Du Weldenvarden."

_Before you continue Zoe, _said Saphira, _you should know that both Eragon and I do not hold you responsible for Ajihad's death. _

Zoe shook her head, "It's not that Saphira, though your words comfort me and ease my guilt. It is that I want you both to know that, while I will do all I can to help and ease your journey; I cannot, as I found out yesterday, save everyone. Whatever happens I want you both to know that I will try my hardest but that sometimes isn't enough."

Eragon gazed at the girl in front of him. He had rarely heard her admit that she was not able to handle a situation and that admission spoke of the level of trust and friendship between the three of them. Wanting to convey both his understanding and his support, Eragon said gently, "You are our friend Zoe. Nothing is going to change that." The Rider had never been so glad for the Ancient Language and its demands for honesty. For this was the truth.

_Yes, _said Saphira firmly as she lowered her head to gaze eye to eye with Zoe. _Nothing at all little one. I only wish you would ask us for help more often. _

"I might have to Saphira," said Zoe with a small, weak smile. "The third thing I needed to talk with you about is Du Weldenvarden. I know that you two are planning on leaving soon. Brom and I spoke briefly last night about me accompanying you. That way both the Varden and the dwarves can feel as if they have a representative during your training. Brom was going to speak about it more with King Hrothgar and whoever takes the leadership but I wanted to ask you two."

"You might come?" asked Eragon. It felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted and a little of the fear he had felt at traveling with only Arya to Du Weldenvarden eased.

"Maybe," said Zoe with a smile, "but Saphira would you be able to carry three not two? If that is too difficult for you then it will not be possible."

Eragon glanced up at Saphira who was gazing appreciatively at the ceiling above her as if considering Zoe's question. Lowering her gaze back to the two of them, she said, _I think I can. I would not be able to fly as fast nor as far but it would be possible. You aren't that heavy you know nor is Arya. _

Zoe's smile widened and she said, "Thank you Saphira. We will have to see what Brom says."

"Wouldn't Murtagh prefer you to stay with the Varden?" asked Eragon curiously. He was not a blind fool and had noticed the way the two treated each other. Even Arya had commented on how close the two were growing. Brom had had some rather interesting comments about it.

Zoe shrugged, "I mentioned it to him and we spoke of it. Murtagh is easy either way. While he would miss having me with him he agrees with my reasons for going and supports it. I have made him promise not to get into any trouble and Brom will keep a close eye on him. He does not want Murtagh to be captured by the Empire and taken back to Galbatorix any more than me."

"Is that what was supposed to happen?" asked Eragon curiously. "Yesterday I mean."

Zoe grimaced and any levity left her quickly. "Yes," she said heavily, "yes it was. However, that is too dark a subject for right now."

Eragon nodded and looked down at his uneaten and now cold food. "Would you like this?" he asked Zoe, gesturing at the plate.

Zoe wrinkled her nose and examined the mix of potatoes, onions, mushrooms and bread. "Not a very balanced meal is it?" she said. "No green vegetables and no protein. I think I'm ok for now."

"Protein?" asked Eragon curiously. Zoe had spoken the word in the common tongue and not in the ancient language. It was a strange word and Eragon wondered what it meant.

"Yeah," said Zoe. "A protein is a complex nutrient you get from meat, dairy products like cheese and nuts. It makes up many body structures and is important for healthy body functions."

"Oh," said Eragon. Zoe had given him many, as she called them, 'biology' lessons on their travels that ranged from what turned milk sour to the laws that governed the world. The most fascinating topic had been 'genetics' and how animals adapted to their various habitats.

It was then that Saphira said, _Eragon, Zoe, there is someone here who I can't scare aware. _

Glancing around, Eragon saw a pale-looking youth standing a little ways from the table. The boy was glancing from Eragon and Zoe to Saphira as if wondering who was going to try and kill him first.

"What is it?" asked Eragon in the common tongue.

The boy started, flustered, then bowed. "You have been summoned, Argetlam, to speak before the Council of Elders."

Glancing at Zoe, Eragon said, "Are you to lead me to them?"

"Yes, I am."

"I suppose I'll see you later Eragon," said Zoe with a smile. She to spoke in the common tongue and with a warm smile directed towards the boy she continued. "I have to meet with three of the captains to discuss what is to be done about their depleted weapon supplies. The list of things to do goes on and on."

With that she left and, leaving his uneaten food, Eragon motioned for the boy to show the way. Saphira followed behind and, as they walked, the boy admired Zar'roc with bright eyes but was too shy to say anything. Remembering the days when he had been the boy's age and filled with hopes and dreams for heroic deeds. Eragon asked, "What are you called?"

"Jarsha, sir."

"Saphira and I must thank you Jarsha; you carried your message well." Jarsha sent him a small smile and then bounced forward.

When they reached a convex stone door the boy stopped and said, "The Council awaits you here Argetlam." With that he bowed and left. Eragon glanced back at Saphira for reassurance and then reached out and pushed the door open. The room inside was circular, with a blue domed ceiling that was painted with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Durgrinst Ingeitum stood in the centre of the room. Seated at the table were Jormundur, two other men, one tall and one broad; a woman with a cold expression, and elaborately painted cheeks; and a second woman with an immense pile of grey air and belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice.

Knowing that he was being watched, Eragon surveyed the room, and then seated himself in the middle of a swath of empty chairs. A sense of desperation filled him when he noticed that Brom was nowhere to be seen and that he was alone in this battle of words. Taking comfort from the presence of Saphira who had hunkered down behind him, Eragon gazed steadily back at the five people gathered in this room.

Jormundur got halfway up to make a slight bow, and then reseated himself. Saying as he did so, "Thank you for coming Eragon, Saphira. Before we can continue we must wait for Brom. Until he arrives, this is Umerth," the tall man; "Falberd," the broad one; "and Sabrae and Elessari,' the two women.

Eragon inclined his head but said nothing; he was not disconcerted by the silence that came after Jormunder spoke. In fact, he welcomed the peace it brought to his tensed nerves. A few long minutes passed before the door opened once more and this time both Arya and Brom entered the chamber. Brom sent him a brief, measured look before greeting the other Council members. Arya sat down a few chairs away from Eragon and she to, looked at him briefly before turning her attention back to five Council members.

Eragon smiled inwardly, if the expressions on the faces of the members of the Council were any indication, the presence of his father and Arya were not welcomed additions. Saphira chuckled through their link and Eragon wondered what would come of this meeting.


	32. A Grab for Power

_**A chapter! Thank you to everyone and, as always, please review.**_

* * *

><p>When pleasantries were dealt with the Council of Elders did not waste time. Instead they got started with little to no banging around the bush. Tapping a long fingernail on the table, Sabrae said, "A leader must be appointed and quickly. Lord Brom has already made it clear that he will only act as advisor."<p>

From his seat on one side of the round table, Jormundur spoke. "King Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata; they are difficult to predict even at the best of times."

"What is your suggestion for leader?" asked Brom from his chair. Eragon was sure that Brom already knew who he wished to support but would only give his opinion once the other's had.

Falberd heaved himself up, planting his heavy hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support Lord Brom. We all agreed on who would be the best and we are confident that you, Lady Arya of Du Weldenvarden and Rider Eragon will support our choice."

Waiting, wondering if Zoe would again prove right, Eragon watched the five counselors. Continuing on in his oily voice, Falberd said, "Nasuada is our choice."

Eragon glanced quickly at Arya but she was as unreadable as ever. A quick glance of Brom revealed nothing on how he felt about the suggestion. Turning his attention back to the counselors he said to Saphira, _Zoe was right. They want a young, inexperienced leader. _It was hard for Eragon to reign in his distaste. This was just a grab for power.

_Zoe is usually right about things like this. Yet Nasuada has steel in her. She has proven that when she fought amongst the Varden and Zoe thinks she will make a good leader. So does Brom. _Saphira's tail flicked from side to side as she watched the small little humans in front of her play their amusing games of power. The dragon did not understand why they could not simply say what they wanted – they had made it so obvious anyways.

"I think that Nasuada would be an excellent choice," said Brom smoothly. "She is a capable young woman who has spent years observing how the Varden is run. I am sure that she will provide the determination and independence needed to run the Varden."

Eragon stared at his father. Had Brom just said 'independent?' The Council looked irritated – no secretly furious would be a better description. Sabrae's eyes had darkened alarmingly and both Umerth and Falberd glanced at each other. Elessari just smiled but it was the smile of a snake about to strike.

Brom continued with deliberate slowness. "If Nasuada accepts then she should be appointed directly after the funeral in two days. A new leader as capable as she will bring back the confidence the Varden needs right now."

"Will the elves find Nasuada's appointment agreeable?" asked Falberd looking towards Arya.

Arya stared at the man until he fidgeted under her forceful gaze, and then lifted an eyebrow. "I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing."

The Council did not relax but instead turned their attention to Eragon and Saphira. Eragon gazed steadily back at them without saying anything. His silence and Saphira's seemed to unsettle the five.

Elessari pressed herself against the table's edge as she leaned forward. "We also must ask Rider Eragon. We want you to be present at the appointing – no one, not even Hrothgar can complain about its legitimacy then – we also wish for you to pledge your support to the Varden. If the appointment of Nasuada will bring hope that would double it."

Eragon did not even blink. The Council's grab for power was so obvious that they might as well have spoken it outright. He could sense the tension rolling off both Brom and Arya but he did not need their assistance in this particular matter. Zoe had prepared this for him and so, desperate to avoid the shackles they were trying to place on him, Eragon choose his words. Selecting a mild but cold tone, Eragon responded. "And why should I? Saphira and I have fought and killed along side the Varden." He stopped and watched with grim amusement as the council moved uneasily in their seats.

"You have brought the Varden victory by killing Durza. You wield a position of great strength and importance within the Varden. Besides, it would allow us to offer you and your dragon far more protection" Falberd said. Eragon inwardly rolled his eyes. He had killed Durza, if he hadn't the council would not have been so eager to control him.

_That is a nice way of putting it, _snapped Saphira in his mind. She was angry to have been called 'dragon' as if she was simply an animal.

_I am not finished yet, _said Eragon soothingly in return.

Aware that he needed to end this game before he found himself in a position that was not defendable. Eragon spoke his next words slowly and with great care, "We have demonstrated our support for the Varden multiple times since our arrival. We shall be present for Nasuada's appointment as a sign of our continued commitment to the cause."

Eragon watched, with amusement, as the five counselors visibly relaxed. His words may have shocked them but they had also demonstrated his own power and independence. His answer protected him from being forced to commit to giving his fealty to the Varden. Jormundur, from what Eragon had seen, was a good and honest man but the others in this 'Council' made him uneasy.

Brom stepped in before the Council could say anything else. "Nasuada must be summoned and asked if she will accept the responsibility. We cannot continue until we know her answer."

Jormundur called for Jarsha, and with a few words sent the boy off for Nasuada. While he was gone, the conversation fell into an uncomfortable silence. Eragon ignored the council, focusing instead on the complicated swirls of colors in the marble of the table. Behind him Saphira blew the occasional warm gust of air across the back of his head.

When the door opened again, everyone turned expectantly. Nasuada, chin held high and eyes steady, entered the room. Her embroidered gown was the deepest shade of black, deeper even than her skin, broken only by a sash of royal purple around her waist. A small golden pendent hung from her neck and glimmered as it caught the light.

The boy was dismissed, then Jormundur helped Nasuada into a seat. Greetings as well as condolences were exchanged. The young woman, while poised and quick in her responses, was tragically different from the energetic young woman he had met with Saphira in the dragon-hold. Her father's death had changed her irrevocably.

It was Brom, as current leader of the Varden, who informed her of the reason she had brought to the council. "This is your time of mourning Nasuada but we must resolve an issue that has arisen and it must be dealt with quickly." Brom paused and gazed intently at Nasuada, "The Varden need a leader – and quickly. It has been universally agreed that you, as Ajihad's heir, should take command of the Varden."

Nasuada bowed her head. While her eyes shone with tears her voice was steady when she replied to Brom. "I never thought I would be called to take my father's place so young. Yet, as his daughter and as a member of the Varden, I will accept this duty."

The Council of Elders, while obviously pleased by this news, was still distinctly upset at the way Brom and Eragon had played them. It was a victory but not the victory they had planned for. They had gained no control over Eragon and Brom was going to be standing in opposition to them if they tried to increase their own power.

With a wide smile that did not reach his eyes, Umerth said, "Your acceptance gladdens us."

"Yes," said Brom with a sharp look at the man. "Any assistance I, Arya, Eragon and Saphira or the Council can offer is yours. I believe nothing else needs to be discussed."

Nasuada nodded her head and then, looking at Jormundur she asked. "I would like to thank all of you for the arrangements you have made for my father's funeral. However, would you leave me now? I need time to consider what has been asked of me." Nasuada placed her hands on the marble table in front of her.

For a second Eragon wondered if the Council would accept being dismissed so soon for Umerth looked like he was going to argue and Elessari's eyes had turned dark. However, Falbard with a wave of a massive hand said, "Of course. If you need help, we are ready and willing to serve." With another sweeping gesture at the Council to follow, he swept past the rest to the door looking neither left nor right as if everyone else was somehow beneath him. The thought amused Eragon.

"Eragon, will you please stay?" asked Nasuada meeting his eyes briefly as Eragon pushed himself from his seat. With a nod he lowered himself back into his chair, ignoring alert looks from the councilors. Falbard suddenly looked reluctant to leave and lingered on the threshold before leaving. Brom sent him a small smile as he left and Arya, the last to go, looked at him with eyes filled with worry and apprehension that she had concealed before.

Nasuada sat partially turned away from Eragon and Saphira. "We meet again, Rider. You have not greeted me. I hope I not offended you."

"No my lady you have not," said Eragon. A sudden wave of paranoia gripped him and so, reaching through the barrier in his mind for the magic, he quickly intoned a spell that would ward off unwanted listeners. Sending Nasuada a small smile he said, "There now we can talk without fear of being overheard."

"I doubt Brom would allow anyone near this room anyways." For a second a smile played across Nasuada's face as she relaxed a little into her chair. "But I thank you Eragon."

Eragon dipped his head in acknowledgement and for a second he did not know what to say. Behind Eragon's chair, Saphira stirred, then carefully made her way around the table to stand before Nasuada. She lowered her head until one sapphire eye met Nasuada's black ones. The dragon stared at her for a full minute before snorting softly and straightening. _Tell her, _said Saphira, _that we grieve for her and her loss. Also that her strength must become the Varden's when she assume Ajihad's mantle. They will need a sure guide. _

Eragon repeated her words and then, after a brief hesitation, he continued. "I will say this to you Nasuada because I am not sure what Ajihad meant or what its implications are. Before Ajihad died, he charged me to keep the Varden from falling into chaos. I want you to understand that I will always support and protect the Varden. I am also fairly certain that you are aware of what the Council plans for you."

"I am," the young woman sat a little straighter, her grief temporarily forgotten. "But I will not make it easy for them. I thank you. Both of you for your words and support in these troubled times. I agree that my father's words should be kept quiet for they could be taken as a blessing for you to take control of the Varden."

Eragon smirked. No, Zoe was right this was a leader and any doubts he had quickly left him. The woman in front of him had lost her reserve – now she was composed but determind. Nasuada was her father's daughter without a doubt. Dipping his head, Eragon tapped the marble table with one finger before saying. "I will openly tell you that the council had planned for me to openly commit my loyalty to the Varden. While unable to exact that promise from me it would have made your position would be precarious indeed."

Nasuada let out a small laugh, "I did not give you enough credit for your skills with politics. It will be a pleasure to work with you Eragon Shadeslayer. As I found out today," she said rising from her chair. "I may not know you well or you Saphira but I can see that any game that you play shall have an interesting end."

Eragon rose as well and bowed ever so slightly to her. With another smirk the Rider said, "I agree with you my lady." As he turned to leave she spoke again.

"Eragon. If you see Zoe, tell her I would be glad to speak with her."

"I will," said Eragon. With that he and Saphira left. As they walked away from the room, Eragon glanced out at the city.

_I will be glad to leave this place Saphira. _

_Yes. _she agreed, _I wish for open sky where we can fly and fly without stopping or turning back. _

_Soon. _said Eragon with a smile as he rested a hand on her warm side. _Soon. _Soon he would know the truth of who it was who had saved him when Durza had attacked him. Soon he would start to master the skills he would need to pose a threat to Galbatorix and his servants. _Soon. _

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><p>I smiled pleasantly and bade farewell to three captains I had met with to discuss supplies. The meeting had gone as well as it could have and, with some luck, the issues the captains had had were resolved.<p>

I left the small chamber where such meetings were carried out and walked down the corridor towards the upper levels of the city. As I walked I wondered what had occurred in the Council of Elders meeting with Eragon and Saphira. Had Eragon managed to avoid fealty? Or was he still forced to give his word either to the Varden or to Nasuada?

I shook my head and turned my thoughts to the small stack of documents I had to take to Brom. The papers were a list of supplies for the three companies of warriors I had met with that morning. Wishing for some peace and quiet I quickly left the papers in the empty study that had once belonged to Ajihad before making my way to the library. Murtagh had told me that he was going to spend the day trying to catch up on sleep and staying out of the way. He had no wish, he told me, to be caught up in the politics swirling around.

The library was deserted and perfectly quiet. I smiled at the blessed relief of solitude and made my way through the shelves until I found a particularly comfortable arm chair. I choose a random book from the shelf and started reading. As I read I fingered the smooth black stone that the mysterious woman had given me. I had carried the little stone wherever I went but I did not know either what it was for or how to work it.

I had been absorbed in the book for maybe an hour when the sound of someone clearing their throat started me back to reality. Looking up I saw Nasuada standing, neverously, in the shadow of one of the shelves. "Nasuada," I said with a smile even though seeing her made me feel as guilty as possible. I felt responsible for the grief and pain she was forced to endure. The woman in front of me was diminished from the fiery, determined young woman I had met. However, I sensed that she was not destroyed completely by her father's death but rather coming to terms with it by accepting the leadership and all that entailed. For a busy mind is one that cannot linger on dark things.

"Zoe," said Nasuada as she moved forward. "I wanted to speak to you."

"About what?" I asked as I slipped the book back onto its shelf.

"Are you going with Eragon to Du Weldenvarden?"

For a moment I was surprised but I quickly mastered it. "I hope to. Brom and I agreed that both the dwarves and the Varden may appreciate having someone impartial present for Eragon's training." Stopping to look at her, I asked curiously. "Why do you ask?"

Nasuada stroked the cover of a book left open on a table, "I merely wondered. I appreciate your advice and support but I understand your reasons for traveling with Rider Eragon."

The formality in her words made me raise my eyebrows. "Nasuada we are friends. Speak plainly with me."

Her eyes, wide with shock, met mine for a second and then she quickly dropped her gaze back to the book. "I am sorry Zoe. I asked because I...I truly would appreciate your advice and support in the coming months. I do not know if I am capable of leading the Varden and maintain control over them like my father."

Moving closer to her I rested a hand on her shoulder lightly. "Listen to me Nasuada." My voice was firm, I wanted there to be no misunderstandings about what I was saying. "You are your father's daughter. If anyone has the strength and determination it will take to lead the Varden it is you. Besides," I smiled as she raised her face to look at me, "you are not alone. Brom is beside you and so is Murtagh. Jormundur is a worthy ally as well. If you assert yourself as leader than the Council will accept you."

"I am still unsure if I am ready for this responsibility Zoe."

"We always are unsure. It is only until we try and do our best that we know for sure if we were ready for the challenge."

Nasuada nodded her head and drew herself back up. I stepped back and smiled at her as she regained her composure. The insecurities, fear and pain faded from her as she nodded her head to me. "You are right Zoe."

I shrugged, "The only steps that matter are the ones we take all by ourselves Nasuada. I am sure you will do fine. Your deeds will be sung of through the ages."

"You are very sure of it," said Nasuada with a small, weak smile. "It's like you know the future Zoe."

I laughed a little. If only she knew! "Who knows?" I said with a playful smirk.

Nasuada joined in my laughter and left a moment later. I watched her go, hating myself for causing her grief. If I had only remained closer to Ajihad…_No!_ I snapped to myself. _You cannot linger in the past! What is done is done. Now you must make sure Brom knows what to do. _

I left the library and found myself walking towards Brom study. I needed to tell him a few things. The first was to watch Murtagh with his very life. I was going to say that until I was blue in the face if I had to. I did not one single hair on that boy's head harmed nor did I want his true identity getting out.

The second thing that needed discussion was the Black Hand, Galbatorix's spy organization. There was no Elva (or at least no Elva yet) to watch Nasuada this time and make sure she was not assassinated. This meant Brom was going to have set up magical wards around Nasuada and start to ferrite out the organization himself when they reached Surda. I was fairly certain that after years spent escaping assassination himself that Brom would be more than up to this challenge. He had, after all, been in love with the original Black Hand. If anyone knew the way they operated it was Brom.

I was halfway to the study when I encountered Arya. The elf was standing very still, looking out one of the open arches that lined the eastern side of the passage. She turned when she heard my footsteps and we greeted each other. When I told her that I was on my way to see Brom the elf nodded.

"I shall walk with you," said Arya.

Sensing that the elf would say more when she was ready to, I said nothing as we walked down the nearly deserted corridors. The only people we saw were dwarves who were busily going about their various tasks. At last, after many long minutes of silence, Arya said. "Brom said you planned to travel with Eragon and I to Du Weldenvarden."

"Yes," I said skirting around a dwarf who was laden with scrolls. "Do you object?"

"No," said Arya. "I will enjoy your company especially when we reach my homeland. I merely wondered."

"Ah," I said and again silence fell.

"Is Nasuada a choice you support?" said Arya suddenly. We were a few feet away from the entrance to the study. Two blank faced guards stood at the entrance to the door – they looked neither left nor right but stood like statues.

"Yes," I said meeting her fierce gaze. "She is."

"Why?" Arya did not demand an answer but she wanted one. Her eyes never left mine and, had I not been used to such forceful gazes, I might have fidgeted. As it was I merely gazed back steadily.

"Arya, one of the great trials of knowing what I know is that people come to rely on me for advice instead of trusting themselves. People ask me what course of action is the right one instead of trusting their own hearts and minds. If I say she is then people will relax and become complacent as if the task at hand is already complete. Look to your own heart and see if you know the answer."

Arya was silent until she nodded her head in understanding. "You are right. I cannot always look to you for confirmation that an action or event is the right one. I must maintain my own opinions and act as I would if you were not at hand."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you Arya."

"Until later Zoe of Angard and Llyr."

My heart twinged at the sound of my title but merely nodded and Arya left while I gently knocked on the door. Brom's familiar voice saying "Enter," made me smile and I opened the door. I hoped that Brom could become my ally in this – for he was not supposed to be here anyways – just like me. Perhaps the both of us combined could be enough to keep this world on track.


	33. A Funeral

_**Hi everyone! I want to say that I have really stuck to the book in this chapter and it is not very exciting but it will pick up soon. Don't worry! **_

_**I also want to say thank you to Isi Writer, galeandkatniss and LeahAmberly for adding this story to their alerts. Also big thank you to everyone who reviewed - please keep reviewing - its awesome! **_

_**In response to a guest review: I hope to continue this story through to the end of the series. I am already into Eldest and so we will see how it goes. With any luck I can keep updating on a regular basis and people will continue to want to read this story. **_

_**Alright! On with the story! :)**_

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><p><em>I was standing in front of a door in an empty corridor. Open arches overlooked a beautiful garden where a fountain tinkled gently and flowers filled the air with their heady perfume. A sense of peace filled the air and made me feel light like a feather about to be blown away by the breeze. I was dressed in a gown of light blue silk and, atop my hair, was a thin circlet of silver. The circlet, I was sure of it, had its own power and, while it was too tight as to be uncomfortable, it made itself known. <em>

_I had no control over my body and so I did not know why I spoke the following words: "Eomund open up!" I snapped at the closed door. _

_Silence and so I raised a fist and pounded on the door; the banging disrupting the tranquility of this place. "Hurry up!" I snapped at the wood. "I don't have all day!" _

_"Why?" came Eomund's muffled voice,"should I open that door just to be lectured by you?" _

_"Because," I said furiously, "you need to be lectured! Anyone who goes and does what you do needs one!" _

_"Leave off Zoe!" _

_"No!" My dream self seemed quite determined to remain in front of this door and argue with my younger brother. The part of me that was still anchored to my living and breathing body was confused by the entire situation. _

_Suddenly the door was yanked open to reveal a large beautiful bedchamber. The room was bright with sunlight that streamed inside. A rounded balcony emerged from one side of the room and overlooked the city that was spread out below – too far away for the noise to reach the peace and quiet of this room – all framed by heavy silver curtains. In the distance I could see mountains rising upwards, their peaks covered in snow, from the wide-open grasslands swept up to them. An oversized bed laid at the center of the room, its silvery covers shining brightly in the sunlight. A desk and few tall book cases were on one side of the room. A large fireplace was on the opposite side. _

_Eomund stood in front of me. He was dressed simply in soft grey and no weapons hung at his side. From the slight redness around his eyes I wondered if he had been crying, a suspicion that was confirmed a minute later when he sniffed. "Well?" he asked. His voice had lost its force and so the word came out softly with an almost defeated note to it. The deep depths of his grey eyes dark with pain and I thought he had never looked more insecure or lost then he did right then. _

_My irritation with my youngest brother vanished and I slipped past him into the room. Eomund closed the door and turned to face me. "Why Eomund? I asked. "Why didn't you tell her?"_

_"Because I can't," snapped Eomund as he flopped onto his bed. "I cannot ask her." _

_"I think if you did you might be surprised by the answer." I said gently as I sat beside him. "All Elionwy does is talk about you. Besides," I said bracingly, "if you don't then you will always regret it." _

_Eomund raised his eyes to mine, "Do you actually think she might say yes?" The swirling depths of his eyes lighting up with hope. _

_I smiled, "I think so. The two of you are quite the set of love birds." _

_Eomund colored slightly, "Don't you dare tell Pethred or Lucia. I'll never hear the end of it." _

_Reigning in my amusement I said, "I promise. Now go and ask her!" I rose and yanked my brother up. "The feast is tonight!"  
>Eomund smiled at me and in a sly voice asked. "Do you have someone to accompany tonight sister dear?" <em>

_I shrugged my shoulders innocently, "Who knows?" I winked at my brother. "But if I do it is not something I am going to tell you!" _

_Eomund laughed and the two of us left his bedchamber. _

_The dream changed and I found myself standing on a moonlit balcony. Above me a full moon cast its cold light down on the palace and the city below it. The light made the white walls of my home shine brilliantly like a beacon. I was wearing my fighting gear and a couple pieces of light armor. My body ached and I noticed a bandage wrapped tightly around my upper arm. I must have just come from a fight for my weapons were still at my side. _

_"He will be fine," came a voice from behind me. I turned, wincing as the movement sent pain flaring through my body. A man with dark hair and wearing the simple robes of what I assumed where a healer was standing at the entrance to the balcony looking at me. Behind him I could see the brightly lit healing halls where beds lined one side of the wall. Many of those beds were full and I wondered why. The healer continued, "His wounds are grave but he should recover. The only concern is the residual poison in the wound." Who was injured? I did not remember. _

_A name came to me as I inclined my head in thanks. This was Saelmur, a long time family friend and healer for my family. He had been the one to patch us back together after childhood expeditions went awry and, now, when we returned injured from patrols. "Thank you Saelmur."My voice sounded exhausted and I rested my back against the stone railing of the balcony, using the railing as a support to keep myself upright. _

_The man smiled and rested a hand gently on my shoulder. "Your wounds have not yet been tended Zoe. Come. Pethred will be well and Eomund is already speaking with your father. There is time for you to be cared for." _

_I nodded and followed him back inside from the balcony. I glanced backwards just before I entered the warm, clean Healing Hall. There was something dark to the North that made me shiver as if a shadow was slowly covering the world. _

I woke quite suddenly, my breathing eased as I found myself back in my room in Farthen Dur. I closed my eyes and remembered the two dreams that had come to me that night. It seemed that the best place for my memories to return was in my dreams. These were not the first memories that had come back to me this way and I now expected it every time I went to sleep.

Glancing out the window I decided to rise. It was still early, too early for most of Farthen Dur to be up and about but today was the day that Ajihad would be laid to rest. Tomorrow I would be leaving with Eragon, Saphira and Arya for Du Weldenvarden.

The last two days had not been particularly busy for me specifically but extremely busy for Brom. Eragon and Saphira had also been rather occupied, first by visiting Hrothgar (where Saphira had made her promise to repair the Star Sapphire) and then by Brom who had, in a last ditch effort, made Eragon spend as much time as was physically possible in the library reading books that Brom assigned. The old storyteller wanted his young student to be absolutely up to standards before being sent off to the elves – just goes to show you that the old man is still competitive. I think Eragon had enjoyed the challenge if only because it provided him with a chance to avoid the Council of Elders.

Murtagh had also been at loose ends. The two of us had spent time exploring the vast corridors, gardens, chambers and libraries of the city mountain. It had been fun, a chance to learn more about the other's interests in a more normal, relaxed setting than the one we had had on the back of horse as we outrode enemy soldiers. I had also been called to a private audience with King Hrothgar who had approved of my offer to act as a dwarven representative in Du Weldenvarden.

My afternoons were spent in the stable with my mare. I took her for out for short, bareback rides outside of the city. I had enjoyed the chance to be alone with my horse and away from the sorrow that lingered in the city. Melynlas had also enjoyed it - if only because it was a chance to escape her stall and play outside. I would miss my faithful little mare even though Murtagh had promised to look after her for me.

I left the warmth of my bed and walked to the window, brushing aside the thin curtain as I did so. I still had to pack and I still did not know what I was going to be wearing at the upcoming funeral. Turning back I examined the pile of possessions I had stacked on the desk and went through my inventory of stuff:

One bag – had to get new one from dwarves because my old one was worn out.

Four books – they were definitely coming with me! They were all I had left of that old life where I had been a high school student on Earth. The pages and bindings were worn but I had done my best to protect them.

A scribbler and assorted pens and pencils – I had mastered the art of using a quill and ink but pens were definitely superior.

Small pot and utensils – coming because of how useful they were and they were easy to transport anyways.

Half full bag of coins – coming for obvious reasons.

Blue shirt – it was a thin, dark blue shirt that had been sent with me when I first arrived. I had used it quite a bit and the poor thing really needed to be thrown out but I didn't want to. It had been with me since the start of the journey and leaving it behind did not sit well with me.

One set of my comfy, padded black leather clothing – the other set had been ruined in the battle and the patrols that followed. I had had my remaining set repaired by the Varden's seamstresses who did an excellent job and I hoped the clothing would last me a little while longer. It was excellent for travelling and fighting in skirmishes. However, there was no way it would be acceptable for a formal funeral.

A spare pair of boots – they had been in my original bag on arrival.

The simple tunic/nightshirt thing that Arya had lent me for sleeping – I was currently wearing it. The cloth was a soft dove grey and I suspected that she had brought it from Du Weldenvarden.

A clean tunic of blue cloth and grey leggings that had been given to me by the Varden when I returned from patrols after the battle.

A few odds and ends that I had picked up along the road like my thick black cloak and a pair of gloves rounded it all out.

Efficently packing it into the small bag that I had been given I left the bag on the desk and then quickly stripped off my nightshirt and stepped into the bath that was waiting for me. The dwarves had designed an ingenious system with hot water springs, gravitational flow and pipes that allowed for constant hot water baths. It was a luxury I would soon miss.

Once I was clean I wrapped myself in towels and returned to my room to curl up in an arm chair with one of my old books from Earth. My nose firmly buried in its pages I spent a delightful half an hour emersed in the story of the _Fellowship of the Ring. _It is always nice to read about people in an even more daunting/hopeless situation. Puts things in perspective you know?

My reading was interrupted by Arya who, after receiving no answer to her gentle knock, opened the door. She smiled when she saw me, still wrapped in towels, with a book. "Good morning Zoe," said the elf stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

I smiled at her and said, "How goes?"

She raised her eyebrows at my grammar but said nothing just raised her arm so that I could see some clothing items draped over it. "I thought you may need some appropriate clothing for Ajihad's funeral." Her eyes momentarily darkened at the mention of the events that were to take place that day.

I nodded and stood, placing my book on the table by my nearly completely packed bag, I took the garments from Arya. There was a pair of silvery leggings, a thin white shirt with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar, and then a beautifully embroidered silver over tunic. A border of twirling vines done in dark blue thread edged the tunic. Along with it was a simple light brown belt and equally simple silver circular buckle. A pair of soft grey boots that came to just below my knees completed the outfit. The cloth was fine and so soft – it might have been cashmere – and that they were of elf make was obvious.

I raised my eyes to Arya in a silent question. The elf shrugged, "They used to belong to Glenwing but I took the liberty to tailor them to you using magic."

I stared at Arya for a long moment, that she would gift me with the clothes that had once belonged to a dear companion stunned me. I rested a hand on her shoulder I said softly in the Ancient Language, "Thank you Arya Svit-kona."

Arya smiled, the shadow of grief lifting from her eyes as she nodded towards the clothes. "Put them on. I am not sure if they will fit even after my adjustments and we will be needed soon."

Unable to contain a girlish grin, I went into the bathroom and quickly donned my undergarments. Which included my Earth bra (the poor seamstress was pretty stunned by it) and then slipped the shirt and leggings on. Arya had managed, somehow, to get the clothes to fit me perfectly. I pulled the boots on and then went back to my room.

Arya examined me critically and then said, "Put the tunic on." I compiled and stood still as she made a few minor adjustments before nodding, satisfied by the result. "I'll leave you now for I must prepare as well. Also Murtagh wanted me tell you that he will meet you at the funeral." I noticed the faint smirk that played around her lips - Murtagh and I were in for some teasing. Our relationship was getting to the point where it was impossible to keep it under wraps. Lovely.

"Thank you Arya," I said with all my heart and, to both Arya and my own surprise, I threw my arms around the elf and hugged her.

Arya stood stiffly for a moment before relaxing and I drew back. "You are welcome friend," said the elf in the Ancient Language and, with that, she left.

With Arya gone I quickly brushed out my dark hair. The thick black tresses were a difficult thing to style into anything too complicated. Examining my reflection in the polished mirror I allowed my fingers to remember a forgotten hair style. The final result, a style that I must have used in my old life, was a braided up-do that kept the hair from my face and off the back of my neck.

Satisfied I slipped my sword from its wide leather belt onto the much thinner one that Arya had left. I had carefully cleaned the blade the previous evening and the diamond in the centre of the pommel glittered. I examined the vines that twined around the hilt and wondered, for I still did not know, how the sword had come to be mine. I also did not know what its name was for I still could not remember what the runes inscribed on its hilt meant.

Following my sword I buckled my recently cleaned and restocked quiver and bow. My hand lingered on my lion shaped horn. It frustrated me to be unable to read the runes when I knew I could. I gently stroked the marks on the side of the white horn but, no matter how hard I concentrated, the information remained stupidly far away.

I sighed, annoyed by it and then left my room. Arya must already have dressed and left for I did not see her and so I left the appartement that was shared between Arya, Murtagh and I. As I walked down the corridor towards the place where I supposed to meet Brom, Murtagh and the rest of the entourage that would follow Ajihad to his final resting place, I saw no one. The city was deathly silent, as silent as it had been when I ridden Melynlas to try and intercept Durza.

I finally encountered people as I made my way to Tronjheim's south gate. They all made way for me and it did not take long for me to reach the thick gate where the funeral possession would begin. Seeing my friends gathered on the side of the street I made my way to them.

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><p>Murtagh glanced up from where he was standing beside Eragon and Saphira to see Zoe making her way towards them. Murtagh felt his mouth drop open in amazement as he stared at her. She was dressed in fine silvery clothes that made her grey-blue eyes stand out. Her thick black hair was braided up but the most surprising and striking thing was the way she seemed to glow. A faint light seemed to come from her as she cut a path through the crowds of dwarves and humans. The glow seemed to warm the coldness that hung around the gathered throng and made the young woman look far more regal and noble than ever before.<p>

Eragon nudged him in the ribs and said with an amused smirk. "Zoe is certainly getting looked at."

It was true noted Murtagh with displeasure. As Zoe passed by people, whether they were a hardened soldier or a dwarven matron, stared at her. Not that Zoe seemed to mind; rather she acted as if she was impervious to the wondering stares and whispers that accompanied her.

She reached them and greetings were exchanged before silence fell over the small group of friends. Brom was a little ways away talking with Jormundur and three other obviously important members of the Varden. Orik had left to join his King who was surrounded by dwarves. Arya was beside Saphira, dressed in black and looking as aloof as always. Nasuada – grave, sable-cloaked, and strong in stature, though tears glimmered on her proud face – was close behind the body of her father.

Ajihad himself was at the front of a column that was being formed. He was cold and pale on a white marble bier borne by six men in black armor. Upon his head was a helm strewn with precious stones and his hands were folded over his chest and the ivory hilt of his sword. Silver mail glimmered along with his shining shield.

Murtagh was gestured into line beside Zoe and Arya. They were behind Eragon and Saphira who were in turn behind Brom, the Council of Elders and Nasuada. Murtagh glanced around, he felt uneasy, even though he, as a close friend of Eragon and Brom, was given a spot of honor away from the vast majority of the Varden. The crowd, so silent and depressed, made the young man feel uneasy.

A warm hand slipped into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Glancing down he saw Zoe's small, thin fingers intertwined with his large, rough and scarred ones. Looking at her face briefly he returned his gaze forward and squeezed back. Despite the sadness and grief that made the atmosphere so chilled it seemed as if a warm bubble surrounded him when Zoe held his hand.

Yet, despite the impassive expression on her face, he knew her well enough to see the remorse and pain that she felt. So Murtagh, someone who had rarely given or received comfort, did his best to comfort her by offering his hand. He knew that Arya would see along with Brom, Eragon and Saphira as well as many of the Varden but, right then, he did not care. Let them see.

Together, with his half-brother in front of him and Zoe beside him along with Arya, who he had come to count as a friend, they waited. For what, Murtagh did not know.

All the lanterns were shuttered halfway so that a cool twilight suffused the air. No one seemed to move or breathe, a single plume of incense drifted from the bier, winding its way towards the hazy ceiling of the hollow mountain.

Suddenly, the sound so loud it seemed to reverberate through his bones came the sound of a drum. _Boom. _The note echoed on and on making the vast city mountain reverberate with the sound long after it had ended.

The note signaled movement and so, with deliberate slowness, the prossession which stretched for a mile outside of the city, moved forward. _One step closer, _thought Murtagh as he gripped Zoe's hand tightly.

_Boom. _

This time a second drum, the sound lighter, melded with the first. This note seemed to summon bittersweet hope while the first summoned grief. The force of the sound propelled them along at a slow but purposeful pace. _Just like life, _thought Murtagh, _we move forward to some tune as our destiny plays out around us. _

_Boom. _

When the tunnel ended, Ajihad's bearers paused between the onyx pillars before gliding into the central chamber. If it was possible, the dwarves seemed to grow more solemn as they gazed on the wreckage that was the star jewel. Even Murtagh felt a twinge of sadness as he observed the shattered beauty of the jewel.

_Boom. _

They were walking through a graveyard of shattered rose colored jewel. Some of the pieces were taller than Saphira and on some you could still make out the delicate carvings of a petal. The path that had been cleared for the prossession led to one of the large tunnels that lead underground.

_Boom. _

They walked forward and entered the underground world. Through caverns they marched, passing stone huts where dwarven children clutched their mothers and stared with wide eyes at the prossession.

_Boom. _

The final note of the drum signaled the end of this journey. They halted under ribbed stalactites that branched over a great catacomb lined with alcoves. In each alcove lay a tomb carved with a name and clan crest. From what Murtagh could see in the dim light, there were thousands – hundreds of thousands – buried here. The idea of being surrounded by dead dwarf ghosts sent shivers up his spine. Zoe's hand tightened around his briefly.

After a moment of silent reflection the bearers strode forward into a small room that was separate from the main chamber. In the center, on a raised platform, was an open crypt. On the top of the stone, carved in both dwarvish, common and the Ancient Language were the words:

_May all, Knurlan, Humans, and Elves, _

_Remember this man. _

_For he was Noble, Strong, and Wise. _

_Guntera Aruna. _

When they were gathered around the crypt, Ajihad was lowered into the crypt, and those that had known him personally were allowed to approach. Murtagh, just behind Zoe who he had been forced to let go, was eighth in line.

When his turn came the young man stepped up alongside the tomb. It was the first time Murtagh had ever atteneded a funeral. There had been no time for Tornac's and he had been too young to really remember his mother's funeral as anything more than stern looking people and black robes. Looking downwards at the still, peaceful face of the man, Murtagh wondered if Ajihad had known that he was the son of Morzan. Had Ajihad known who he was? Had he known that the son of Morzan was listening to their councils and fighting beside him? Or had he decide to let it be as a sign of respect towards Brom?

Three things struck Murtagh then. The first was that he truly had respected this man and that his death was a painful blow not only to the Varden but to Murtagh. Ajihad had been a leader, a strong opposition to everything that Galbatorix represented. The second was that, at his funeral, he would rather not be buried among stone but somewhere open and free. The third was that he did not know what to say.

Desperate to say something and leave this suffocating, death filled place; Murtagh spoke softly. "Peace be with you Ajihad of the Varden."

Swiftly, Murtagh rejoined Zoe who was gazing blankly at the tomb her eyes swirling with emotions. Beside her stood Arya along with Eragon, Saphira and Brom all of who were wearing suitably remorseful expressions. Stepping beside Zoe, Murtagh slipped his hand back into hers offering both his strength and wanting to feel the warmth of living flesh. This was no place for the living.

The last person to ascend to the crypt was Nasuada. As she bent over the edge of the crypt and took her father's hand, Murtagh truly looked at her. He had not bothered to really look at her when they had met in the library that day and now, knowing that she had fought alongside the Varden in the battle, Murtagh felt a growing sense of respect for her. She was not the sheltered, manipulative girl he had thought she was and now she had to become a leader. For that, for her acceptance and determination to accomplish the task in front of her and Zoe's own words about her character, Murtagh respected her.

Murtagh winced as Nasuada began to sing a funeral lamentation. The sound was high and piercing. It filled the cavern and echoed on and on.

Then came twelve dwarves who slid a marble slab over Ajihad's upturned face. It was such a simple thing. The sliding of a piece of stone, the fading of Nasuada's voice and then he was gone. Ajihad of the Varden was gone and in his place was his daughter.

Already she seemed to be preparing herself, moving onwards and bottling her grief for a more appropriate time. Nasuada rose, her face set, her eyes dry and her posture rigidly straight and determined. She looked down at them as if daring all gathered to think less of her. The sight of her so defiant made Murtagh smiled inwardly, she would do. Nasuada was a survivor. He could relate, for he, Murtagh son of Morzan, was also a survivor.


	34. To Become a Leader

**_This is a bit of a short chapter in comparison with everything else I have been writing lately. I actually wrote this a few days ago and toyed with the idea of blending it in with another chapter but I decided that it was its own separate one - despite being short. C.P. also makes Nasuada's leadership its own chapter so I guess I am following the book in that way. _**

**_So here you go! It may be a few days to a week before the next update because I am very busy right now but I wanted to get this to you...anways thank you to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/read this story! luckyponygirl_**

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><p><em>It was lucky, <em>I thought with a touch of amusement, _that I grew up learning how to deal with these sorts of functions. _The funeral had just concluded and now people were filing into an underground amphitheater. It seemed to take forever for the Varden and dwarves to get themselves settled so that we could proceed with the next item on the agenda. The next item was a rather important: Nasuada's swearing in as the new leader of the Varden. I was stiff and cold from standing in the room where Ajihad's crypt was and now I was stiffer and colder from sitting.

I was on the lowest tier, level with the podium; a place of honor I suppose. Beside me were Murtagh, Brom, Arya, Saphira and Eragon. Orik was also seated close to us and Saphira, too large to just take up one row, stood on the row of stairs that cut upward through the tiers. The Council of Elders, that slimy bunch, was also seated on the lowest tier though, thankfully, a little ways from me and my friends.

Not only did it seem to be taking far too long for the amphitheater to fill but grief, ever present in the air these days, was layered over anxiety. A transition of power was about to happen and, rightly so, the Varden were anxious. There would always be people who would not support Nasuada and many of them had quite valid reasons for it. Not only that but it had been only a week or so since the battle and the loss of stability because of Ajihad's death was compounded by the loss of so many fathers, sons, uncles, cousins and friends. No reader, the emotions in that room made me feel about as nervous as I had ever felt.

I resisted the urge to fidget and instead, following the rules of decorum so drilled that I did not need all my memories to remember them, sat a little straighter and pulled my shoulders back. Beside me Murtagh, who had no doubt been given similar lessons, was also sitting stiffly upright. Eragon, impassive but still rather pale, was gazing steadily at the podium. That he was anxious as to how the transition about to take place was obvious. Though the one who took the cake for anxious was Brom. His hands were firmly gripping each other and he practically radiated anxiety.

It was then, with a great settling, that the amphitheater fell silent. The Jormundur stepped up to the podium, looking remarkably relaxed and confident considering everything. "People of the Varden, we last stood here fifteen years ago, at Deynor's death. His successor, Ajihad, did more to oppose the Empire and Galbatorix than many before him. He nearly killed Durza and, greatest of all, he welcomed Rider Eragon and Saphira into Tronjheim. However, a new leader must be chosen, one who will win us even more glory."

Someone, from the upper tiers by the sound of it, shouted, "Shadeslayer!" I glanced upwards briefly, looking for the speaker but I could not pinpoint it so I returned my attention to the podium.

Jormundur, showing his experience, did not register the interruption. "Perhaps in years to come, but he has other duties and responsibilities now. No, the Council of Elders has thought long on this: we need someone who understands our needs and wants, one who has lived and suffered alongside us. One who refused to flee, even when battle was imminent."

The crowd, hanging on every word spoken by the commander, knew before he finished who he meant. A wave of comprehension, of understanding, swept over the deathly quiet room. Jormundur did not even need to say her name for it was uttered by all present. Or at least all but those who had known before hand. "Nasuada." The word, when spoken by so many, almost seemed to become an incantation – a spell that would summon victory and hope for the Varden and its allies. The energy for that spell came from the people and the result, with any luck, would be a remarkable leader who would secure the victory that had been desired for so long.

His duty complete, Jormundur stepped aside and his place was taken by Arya. The elf, chin held high, surveyed the waiting audience for a moment before speaking. "The elves honor Ajihad today…And on behalf of Queen Islanzadi, I recognize Nasuada's ascension and offer her the same support and friendship we offered to her father. May the stars watch over her."

Just as quickly as she had stepped up to the podium, Arya was replaced by Hrothgar who also stated his support. Then Eragon, with Saphira standing close behind him, spoke his support followed by Brom and the Council of Elders.

It was then that Brom, in a flicker of thought, spoke to me. _It is your turn Zoe. _

_My turn? _I demanded – shocked and not a little nervous to stand in front of everyone and give my public support.

_Yes, you must also give your support. _

Grateful for all those long hours spent in my childhood learning the words and actions used for such momentous occasions, I took my place at the podium. I knew that as I walked to that podium I had to convey confidence by stepping with purposeful slowness and that I should allow everyone a full view of my face. When I reached the podium I knew to raise my gaze to all those faces so that there was no doubt of who I was or how I felt. When I spoke I had to allow my voice to carry to the very edge of the room with purposeful clarity. When I left the podium I had to take my position among the others and I had to walk with the same confidence and assurance with which I had walked to the podium.

It was easy in theory but I challenge you to put it into practice when thousands are staring at you. It makes you want to curl up, mutter some incoherent words and then run screaming from the room. Can you imagine what impression that might leave? Oh stop looking at me like that – I'm being perfectly serious. Maybe I should give it a try and see what happens…only kidding!

When I reached the podium I spoke without hesitation, just like I had planned to when I stood from my seat. "I, Zoe, support the appointment of Nasuada to the Varden." I had abbreviated my words, which should have contained my title, to just my name. I had no wish for it to become common knowledge that I had an unusual but powerful title. It would only get back to the king who would then put two and two together to equal an answer I did not want him to have.

With pledges spoken, Murtagh (the lucky thing had not had to offer his support publically) and I were lined up behind the Council of Elders who surrounded the podium with Jormundur at the head. Arya was beside us along with Eragon and Saphira. With her shoulders thrown back, Nasuada approached him and knelt before him, her black dress falling around her in a black pool of fabric. Raising his voice, Jormundur spoke to the waiting crowd, "Have we chosen well? Will Nasuada, by merit of her own and her father's achievements, lead us?"

I could not help but wonder at this rudimentary system of democracy. It was interesting to watch and, even though I was not a member of the Varden, I could not help but whisper along with the resounding echo. "Yes!"

Many of the Varden rose to their feat as they spoke that simple word, a word that would shape the destiny of this world. The power of a crowd, the power created when we gathered together under one name, was truly extraordinary. With that simple word the desperation, the anxiety, the grief and hopelessness was swept aside in a moment. In its place were determination, courage and hope. It made a person stop and think at how much power a group has compared to an individual when they have a purpose and a leader.

Jormundur nodded again and, placing a silver circlet on Nasuada's dark hair, helped her upright. As he did he confirmed the decision and the people's wishes with one great big symbolic act.

The sight and sounds of cheering people brought me back to another place. It was not Nasuada standing in front of the cheering masses but my newly crowned older brother. His golden hair glinting in the warm light that entered the Hall of Kings through the high windows. It was not Jormundur but rather the war leader Gwydion who had served my father before. It was not a mix of dwarves and Varden that was cheering and nor was it a silver circlet but one made of gold with no embellishments expect for a thin scroll work of runes. Nor was it a dragon and her rider or Murtagh standing beside me but my younger siblings.

The vision faded and I was left once more in the underground amphitheater. Compared to the light filled, high ceilinged Hall of Kings this place seemed dark. I was quickly discovering that I had little appreciation for dwarven architecture – specifically what was underground – for it made me feel suffocated. Don't tell a single dwarf I just said that! I'm supposed to be representing their race in Du Weldenvarden which means I should have a healthy appreciation for dwarven tastes.

Turning towards the podium, Nasuada gripped it on either side as if it were a rock in the middle of a tempest. Which, in some ways it was, for the noise and outpouring of emotion threatened to sweep us all up like dry leaves in a fall storm.

Raising her face to the crowds, she smiled, not just a little smile but a massive one of pure joy. I was impressed; few would wear that smile at such an event unless they truly wished to become the leader. "People of the Varden!"  
>She had to shout it out several times before silence fell. When silence did fall it was complete and you could have cut it with a knife it was so thick and heavy.<p>

"As my father did before me, I give my life to you and out cause. I will never cease fighting the Empire until the Urgals are vanquished, Galbatorix is dead, and Alagaesia is free once more!"

The cheering and applause went on and _on. _Let me tell you dear reader, my head was beginning to hurt from all that noise and the constant bombardment of heady emotions on the walls of my mind.

"We must prepare to strike!" continued Nasuada her eyes shining with light and her face full of passionate determination that was more captivating and far more inspiring than the smug smiles and disdain of the Council of Elders. "Here in Farthen Dur we won our greatest battle. It is our turn to strike back, Galbatorix is weak and there will never again be such an opportunity.

Her voice rising once more, Nasuada cried out, "Now is the time! Now is the time to show our enemies that we are strong!"

Her words hit me with painful resonance. They were so similar, or at least the meaning of them and the passion with which they were spoken, to the ones my brother had cried out to the crowds that had gathered in the city to see their new king. _Let us stand! Let us fight for a bright new dawn! _echoed in my mind. The force of them like a battering ram against my carefully controlled emotions and icy manners. I closed my eyes briefly and withdrew into my mind in an effort to regain control of my swirling emotions and regain the balance I needed for the following events.

I regained it in time to give my congratulations to Nasuada and listen to the speeches made by various (very important) personages. At long last, to my utmost relief, the amphitheater emptied and I was released.

As we left the amphitheater, Eragon looked at me. "We will meet you tomorrow?" he said. Eragon's eyes were tired and I could sympathize. The funeral had shaken us all and so had the following events.

"Yes," I said with a smile. "It will be nice to be in the open air."

"Yes," said Eragon with a tired smile of his own.

_Till tomorrow little Zoe. _said Saphira with a blink of one of her giant blue eyes. The two left us and made their way up the corridor and towards the surface.

I looked over at Murtagh who had been a silent but warm presence at my side all day. "Murtagh?" I said softly looking into his dark eyes.

"Zoe," he said putting an arm around my shoulders and drawing me close. "I never thought I would be here. I never saw a life for myself outside of the Empire."

I looked around. I looked at the black clothed Varden and dwarves making their way from the amphitheater, at the blue dragon and her Rider walking away and then at Murtagh with his dark eyes and complicated past. I thought of Earth and the various events that had led me to this moment from falling into Alagaeasia to Dras'Leona to Gil'ead to the Battle of Farthen Dur. I thought of my family and the memories that were beginning to settle into place like puzzle pieces in my head. "No," I said finally. "No. I never thought I would be here either." A pang of homesickness that had been brought on from the memories made my heart clench painfully.

"Do you think he knew?" asked Murtagh suddenly.

"Who knew what?" I asked.

"Ajihad. Do you think you knew who my father was?"

I was silent. The crowd was beginning to thin and soon we would be the last ones left in this tunnel. "Yes," I said at last, "but I think he was willing to allow you to prove yourself because of the help you had given Eragon, Brom and Arya."

Murtagh nodded, not looking at me but at his feet. "We should go," he said at last.

"Yes," I said looking around. We had gone maybe a few feet when I suddenly stopped and so did Murtagh, for he still had his arm around me. "Murtagh," I said looking him square in the face.

"Yes," he said looking at me with confusion.

"Thank you." I said so honestly and I meant it. Switching to the Ancient Language, I said the word again.

"For what?" asked Murtagh. He was gazing at me, his eyes bright with curiosity and a single eyebrow rose questioning. Looking into his eyes I lost myself in their dark depths.

"For being there," I said simply (still in the Ancient Language). "For all the times you have been there for me."

A smile - that transformed him from dark and broody to young and bright - crept across his face. He seemed to have shed the scars that marked him and made him so watchful of the world and the intentions of those around him. For a moment I saw him as he might have been had he not been forced to grow so quickly as a child.

We were standing very close together and we were the only ones there (you don't count because you aren't really there but rather somewhere else) in the silence and the faint red glow of the lanterns. It seemed, for a second at least, that time slowed and stopped. The worries and fears, my departure, a mad King, an army, a future, the coming battles and all the rest faded as we stood looking into each other eyes.

Murtagh was taller than me and so, when he grabbed my face with his hands and closed the gap between us with a passionate kiss, he had to bend down. Then everything in Alagaeasia seemed to be in its right place, and everything was a distant memory too far away to recall.

* * *

><p>Arya watched from the shadows of the corridor as Zoe and Murtagh stood together in the empty tunnel. She had returned to see what was keeping them and, instead, had barged in on a rather private and, obviously, very personal moment between the two.<p>

As she watched Murtagh bend his head to kiss the girl she now counted as a friend, Arya wondered at it. It had been clear that the two liked each other but Arya had not guessed at how much they _liked _each other. The two had been dancing around each other since Arya had first seen them together but this was first display, which she had seen, of the depth of their feelings. Yet, from what Zoe had told her, Arya knew that the love the girl may feel for Murtagh and was a doomed one. Knowing this and knowing that Zoe was both practical and logical, made Arya wonder at what had possessed the girl to allow herself to have a relationship that would only end in a broken heart.

She, Arya, would not do something so reckless? She had flirted with love with Faolin but, whatever that may have been, had been ended by Durza in a shattering moment. To do what Zoe did now – risk her heart for the sake of the present without considering the future – was not something Arya could comprehend. It was foolish and it was distinctly lacking in any of the qualities that the elf associated with Zoe. Perhaps it was merely a passing thing, something brought on by the events of the past few days but the elf doubted it.

The two in front of her broke apart and smiled slightly into each other faces; their eyes never straying from the other as they gazed deeply into the other's eyes without speaking. At some silent agreement the two began to walk towards the place where Arya was hidden. The elf merely drew farther back into the nook of the wall and the two passed by without seeing her.

Arya watched them as they vanished from her sight around a bend in the corridor. She was, quite frankly, rather sunned. It made no sense. None at all that either Murtagh, who guarded his feelings closely, and Zoe, who was hyper-conscious of her duties and fate, would allow themselves this kind of relationship in the present circumstances.

The elf left the shadows and began to walk, slowly so as not to meet either Zoe or Murtagh, back to the main chamber from which she could return to her room. She would not mention it, decided the elf, for it was best not to. The moment had not been for any other eyes to see nor was it something that either Murtagh or Zoe would want to discuss. The two were separating, with Murtagh staying with the Varden and Zoe leaving with her, Eragon and Saphira. Perhaps time and distance would erase whatever feelings were between the two. Regardless she would say nothing nor would she allow it to change how she dealt with Murtagh or Zoe.

Arya had come to count Zoe as a trusted confidant and Murtagh as a worthy ally despite his parentage and upbringing. If the two of them were confident that a relationship of more than friendship would not prevent them from acting as they normally would in this time of war than she would say nothing. It was not her place nor was it her heart on the line but rather theirs and what they chose to do was their own choice.


	35. The Start of Something New

Eragon did not really have a purpose. He was walking along the far outer rim of the hollowed out mountain as he strove, in some ways, to clear his head of the events of the day. Ajihad's funeral was behind him, Nasuada had taken the leadership with the Varden's full support and he was leaving with Saphira the following morning. Despite all of this and his own exhaustion, he could not find any peace in the room he shared with Saphira.

So, after spending an hour tossing and turning in his bed and then under Saphira's wing, he had left the rooms. Saphira had understood his desire for solitude and quiet - she had remained and was more than content to sleep away the troubles and her lingering hang over.

A grin found its way onto his face as he remembered the sight of Saphira - drunk - the night before. The dwarves had been thrilled by her promise to restore the Star Sapphire and had thrown together a celebration worth remembering. It had been the first time in too long since Eragon had let himself forget his responsibilities and, as Zoe had put it once, party to the break of dawn. Though to be fair, he had done his best to remain sober because he did not relish dealing with a funeral and a crowning as well as a pounding head.

Saphira, on the other claw, had let her so called 'sense' out the window and downed more than one keg of the dwarves best brew during a night of wild partying. Eragon had been rather satisfied to be the one lecturing her for over doing it instead of the other way round. So often it was Saphira chiding him for foolish actions. Now he had the opportunity to smile smugly as she bemoaned her headache and cursed dwarves, dwarven parties, dwarven mead and formal functions that came after said parties and mead.

His amusement faded as his thoughts turned to the meeting he had had with Nasuada before the funeral. He and Saphira had met her in her father's old study which Brom used and, now, Nasuada to conduct various business related to the Varden. Instead of the normal two guards that had been their during Ajihad's rule, an entire sqaud of men had stood guard and all of them were alert for even the slightest hint of danger.

When they had been admitted Nasuada had both informed him of her decision to move the Varden to Surda for two reasons. The first was because the dwarves could no longer support them after a lean harvest and the losses they had experianced in the battle. The second was Nasuada's decision to openly move against the Empire and to do that she needed her army to be close enough to engage fully.

Her plan had stunned both Eragon and Saphira - despite them both suspecting it would be her first move. He had, naturally, questioned the wisdom of such a move as had Saphira but had been unable to fault her motives for the move. It was a daring thing to even attempt but, it seemed, that Nasuada wanted to establish herself as a daring leader who would not wait for some special sign to take on the Empire. As she had explained this was the first time the Empire had been so vulnerable since the death of Morzan and his dragon at the hands of Brom.

Not only had they discussed, albeit briefly, the move of the Varden to a move aggressive position but Nasuada had also entrusted him with a missive for Queen Islanzardi as well as a request that he still considered. The delivery of the message which contained both an overview of the Varden's position and a plea for assistance did not trouble him. It was the request that did. It was that request that had bothered him for the last few days. For, as a way to rally support and inspire fear in their enemies, Nasuada wished to reveal that they had a Rider and dragon backing them. It would be the final open declaration of both he and Saphira's loyalty. While, in many ways he supported it as did Saphira, he also hated the thought of releasing the power that it gave both of them. While Galbatorix stilled believed they could be brought to his side he did not openly attack them but, if they did as Nasuada suggested, the King would quickly look to forcing them to join him.

Saphira was as mixed as he was on the matter. She, like him, deplored the idea of so openly declaring themselves but also saw the benefits. They had killed Durza - a loyal servant to the King - as well as many of the Urgals which, when combined with their previous actions, already confirmed them to one side. This would merely be a final confermation.

No, if Eragon was truly honest with himself, one of the most pressing reasons he did not want the news to be spread was because of Roran. In a spare moment he had looked in on his cousin who was obviously back in Carvahall but otherwise he had been too occupied with matters of state and war - something that hurt a great deal. He had been so involved in training, travelling, fighting and politics that he had forgotten about Roran.

However, telling Roran in person and explaining the situation and his motives was the only way Eragon could see mending their torn relationship. If Roran found out through another source and decided that it was because Eragon was merely chasing fame and riches as a Rider, well, forgiveness would never come.

The young Rider stopped and looked behind him. The city of white marble glowed softly in the dark of the cavern. He had come so far. Not only in distance and in social rank but in the most basic parts of who he was from his personality to his physical features. Now he was Eragon son of Brom, Rider of Saphira, slayer of Durza and not the parentless ward of a farmer and his wife in a remote little village. The boy who had day dreamed of glorious deeds was gone. In his place was an Eragon that he did not know. This Eragon was powerful, close tongued and watchful. This Eragon was slow to befriend and quicker to distrust as well as far more wary of the world he walked in. This was not the first time he had considered the changes but this was the first time he had looked at them without resentment or anger clouding his thoughts. Tonight was the first night he felt secure enough in who he was to truly examine the questions that had plagued him since he had left his home as a wide-eyed boy with a fledgling dragon and a grumpy story teller.

Could he ever return to Carvahall? Now, after seeing and doing so much, he did not think so. He could not plow a field now nor could he ever settle for simple life - that future was no longer open for him. Would he ever be able to explain to his cousin not only the reasons for Garrow's death but the reason he could never be the Eragon that Roran knew? His cousin would not know him now and nor could he understand the world that Eragon now lived in. This was not the world of farmers that was governed by changing seasons and a King's high taxes. No, this was a world of Kings, armies, magic, bitter memories, pain and an overwhelming desire for revenge. Roran, with his strong ties to Carvahall and the morals that Garrow had drilled them in, would neither understand nor want this world.

Just thinking of Garrow, sitting at the kitchen table while he lectured them on selflessness and generosity, made Eragon's heart twist. Would his Uncle have despised the warrior his nephew had become? Garrow had been quite set in the idea that both Eragon and Roran belonged in PalancarValley and not, most definitely, out challenging the King of the Empire.

Turning away from the city he continued to follow the stone pathway that ran along the side of the cavern. He would need to return soon and try, if not to sleep, than to at least put his belongings in order.

It was then, just as he reached the end of the path which ended because of the large pile of decomposing waste that a cheery voice called out. "Eragon!"

Glancing upwards he made out the distinctive curly haired figure of Angela dressed in a pale wool tunic a little ways away. She seemed to be digging up something from a small hill for a trowel was in one hand and a small basket was beside her. Sitting a little ways away was Solembum who was holding a dead rat in his mouth.

Feeling a little irritated that he had been so caught up in his thoughts to have missed them completely he greeted her with a small bow "Angela. Solembum." The werecat ignored him in favor of concentrating on the large, very dead rat in its mouth.

The curly haired witch stood up and dusted off some of the grime from her clothes as she made her way down the heap of waste. "Eragon," she said with a cheerful smile. "I did not think you would be here at this time of night."

"I couldn't sleep," he said with a shrug and moved closer so he could see the basket of mushrooms she had been collecting from the heap of recycling matter. "What are you doing?"

Angela gestured with her trowel at the basket, "Oh just collecting some various toadstools or, as they really should be called, frogstools. The Varden will be leaving soon and I intend to go along with them so I might as well store up while I can. Just look at this one," she pointed at a mushroom with a bright pink top and a yellow bottom that was spotted with purple poke-dots. "Its a spotted deceiver! Delightful, isn't it?"

"Very," said Eragon as he admired one mushroom that had a lightning-blue stem, molten-organge gills, and a glossy black two-tierd cap. Recognizing it from one of his scrolls that Brom had assigned him on various rare flora and fauna. He asked curiously, "Is that a Fricai Andlát? The one that Tunivor's Nectar is extracted from?"

Angela's eyebrows went up as she gazed at him, a look of impressed surprise on her face. "Yes, it is. I didn't expect you to know. I thought all you cared about was waving that sword about."

Eragon chuckled, "Not quite Angela."

"Maybe there is some hope for you then. I was getting worried about how boring you were getting!" The curly haired witch rearranged some of the mushrooms as she spoke.

"That is why I count on you to inform me of it," said Eragon examined a few of the brightly colored and very toxic looking mushrooms. Suddenly, knowing that this would his last chance, he voiced a question that had been on his mind since he had last talked to the witch before the battle. The conversation they had had in that isolated room in the abandoned floors of the city mountain haunted him still. As did the question it had raised about his father. "Angela."

"Yes," she said returning to her work of extracting a particularly large and brightly colored fungi.

"I wanted to ask you about what you said about Brom. You told me that it was his fate to fail at everything he tried his hand to but that you thought that had changed. What did you mean?"

Angela was silent for many long moments and the only sound came from Solembum as he crunched away at his dead rat. The sound disgusted Eragon slightly.

At last the witch spoke and her voice lacked its usual cheerfulness and her words their usual banter. "You do know that Brom was supposed to die that day with the Ra'zac? Zoe told you that I'm sure."

"Yes," said Eragon. He did not say anything more but merely waited for what, he was sure, would be the first complete answer he had ever received from the witch.

"When Brom evaded death that day his fate was thrown to pieces - literally. Zoe did more than save his life she gave him a gift that is both liberating and binding - it is a gift that has also been bestowed on you. The gift of choosing your own fate." The witch fell silent again and then, before Eragon could ask another question, she continued. "No longer must Brom labour under the fate of never succeeding except in his victory over Morzan. Because he is supposed to be dead his story is no longer guided by the same, you could call them, restrictions it once was. He, like Zoe and you, are weaving your own story amid the tapestry of this world."

"Oh," said the Rider not sure what to say.

"One thing Eragon," said Angela as she picked up her basket and slipped the trowel into a hidden pocket. "Do enjoy your time in Du Weldenvarden. It's a lovely place but do be careful. There are many secrets in that forest best left unsolved and even better, unfound."

"I will do my best," said Eragon. He knew better than to query not only what sort of secrets these might be, whether they were related to the Menoa Tree (he had managed to find out what that was during his time studying in the library the last few days) and how, exactly, the witch knew so much about the ancient forest. She spoke as if she had been there before but how or when the Rider could not guess.

_Rider, _came the purring voice of the werecat in his mind.

_Solembum? _

_While you are in the city of the forest greet an old friend of mine. Her name is Maud or Quickpaw or Dreamcatcher. _

_I shall tell her you sent your regards. _

_Thank you. _hissed the werecat in his mind before returning, with fastidious attention, to the rat.

Angela nodded her head slightly at him and said, "Well fair winds to you and Saphira. Watch out for carniverous squirrels, nasty things, don't bite off more than you can chew, lest you choke, and, whatever you do, don't take on a Flying Rusacapian beetle."

"I shall follow your advice to the best of my abilities," said Eragon with a short bow.

"Oh and do smile! It is not as if you are off to your execution - be happy! You're as flaccid as Solembum's rat. _Flaccid_. What a wonderful word, don't you think?"

He could not contain his laugh at her words, "I'm not quite sure it's as wonderful as you think, but yes, I understand your point."

"Excellent. I like to be understood." Angela smiled and patted his cheek before lifting her basket of mushrooms and turned away. Suddenly she stopped and turned to look at him. Her eyes, normally twinkling with mirth and mischief were suddenly dark with seriousness. She suddenly looked far older than she first appeared. "One thing Eragon. While you are in Du Weldenvarden remember that just because elves do not display their emotions doesn't mean they aren't subject to rage and passion like the rest of us mere mortals. What can make them so dead, thought, is how they conceal it, sometimes for years."

He was silent for a moment before saying, "I know. Safe travels to you Angela and may events be as interesting as possible for you."

Angela nodded, gave him a cheery wink that was at odds with her seriousness a moment before and then turned away, strolling off into the gloom of the cavern. After an appropriate pause, Solembum picked up his dinner and followed, ever so dignified.

* * *

><p>I stood, bag slung over one shoulder and weapons at my side, by the entrance to the North Tunnel which would lead us to a place where Saphira could take off and fly more easily among the massive mountains. The recessed area we stood in was lined with red jasper pillars, carved beasts that snarled from between the pillars and past those, at the very edge of Tronjheim, sat two thirty-foot-high gold griffins. Identical pairs guarded each of the gates that led into the city. Part 1 of this journey was about to be kicked off.<p>

It was still early morning, too early for the city to be up and running. It was because of this that we were leaving now rather than later. It had been decided, when the plans were laid for this trip, that leaving early and without any fan fare would be best. That Galbatorix had informants among the Varden was only natural and secrecy was the best policy to take in these sorts of situations.

Arya stood a little ways away talking with Brom, Orik, Jormundur, Murtagh and Nasuada. The elf was pale faced and, despite her formidable self-control, she was as tense as a drawn bow at the prospect of returning home. As for me, well, I had not slept really at all the previous night from both nerves at the prospect of visiting Du Weldenvarden, the turbulent emotional rollarcoster that was yesterday and my own, still very confused, feelings for a certain person. Oh stop smirking at me! I'm being perfectly serious - that kiss had both been awesome (see I told you I would be honest about my feelings!) and a painful reminder that this could not last.

After spending most of the night trying to sleep, and failing, I left and spent the rest of the night with my mare in her stall. It was there, in the deep straw bed, that I finally managed to sleep and, when I woke, it was time to go. I bade farewell to my little mare and made my way to the meeting place after a brief detour to pick up my bag and cloak.

Nasuada along with Jormundur, Murtagh and Brom had met me at the west gate to the city. We were joined a few minutes later by Arya and the conversation had been so stilted and awkward that I finally given up on it and stepped away to gather my thoughts and, also, examine the new leader of the Varden. Nasauda seemed to be doing relatively well on her first day of true command. She had dark circles under her eyes that spoke of a sleepless night (join the club of sleepless people) and her face was rather pale but, despite this, she appeared to be retaining all her determination and fearless courage. I hoped that Brom would be a good support for her and I knew that Jormundur had served her father with single-minded loyalty that he would then give to Ajihad's daughter.

I looked to the sky for any sign of Saphira. I saw her beginning to make her descent towards us as she glided over the city mountain. It would be good to leave this place, the suffocating air of this place, the heavy marble of the city and feel a true wind and see the horizon again. Tronjheim was full of painful memories for me - from the battle to Ajihad's death.

It was then, in a whoosh of air and sound that the dragon landed. Eragon, dressed for travel, hopped down and greetings were exchanged. He and Nasuada stepped aside for a few minutes of private conversation and then she bade both me and Arya farewell. Nasuada was pressed for time apparently - she was supposed to meet with a certain Council for some 'reviewing of the Varden's proposed movement to Surda.' I wished I could have said a proper good-bye to her but, with a little luck, we would see each other soon enough. She was doing her best to appear as a leader should – stiffly formal. It was something that did not come naturally to her and would take her some time to perfect but leaders, the good ones at least, did master it. It was the art of appearing powerful without ignoring those around you.

I turned to Orik for my first 'farewell but see you later'. The dwarf, while a grim and gruff, was a loyal and courageous friend who I had enjoyed spending time with. "Till we meet again Orik of Durgreimst Ingetium."

"The same to you Zoe," said the dwarf with a smile that was almost lost underneath his beard. "May the stone be sure underneath you."

"And your hammer never falter," I said with a smile of my own. The dwarf let out a low chuckle and clapped a hand against my lower back - nearly sending me sprawling much to Saphira's amusement.

Brom was next. The old story-teller embraced me tightly before saying, in a low whisper, "Guard yourself well Zoe. You will have to be careful among the elves when it comes to what you say and what you do."

"I know," I whispered back. "Remember your promises to me Brom."

"I won't forget," he murmured in the Ancient Language - binding himself even more.

"Thank you," I said stepping back and speaking in the same language. "For everything you have done for me."

Brom smiled and, for a second, he looked far younger as the wrinkles and the shadowy grimness that hung around him lifted. "Thank you Zoe."

The last person for me to say good-bye to was Murtagh. The person that I both wanted to keep a close eye on and also wanted to leave. We stood, in front of each other, for a long moment, saying nothing and just looking at the other. Finally I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Look after yourself Murtagh. I'll see you soon."

"The same to you Zoe," said Murtagh. "It will be a good day when we can next spar together."

The farewell may have seemed stilted and far too formal but it wasn't actually. We had said good-bye the previous night and now we did this merely because everyone was there and not because we had not already said what needed to be said. Sometimes actions, like the one last night, spoke far more than words. Despite the confusion and the uncertainty I felt about this whole little 'romance' I did truly care for Murtagh and nothing would change that. We would see what time made out of this and whether it would last the events that were to come. For now I was following the advice of the woman and trying to live in the now and not the future.

Arya and Eragon said their farewells and then it was time to go. I took one more long look at the white city of the dwarves. This might be my last time here and I wanted to remember what Tronjheim had looked like. My eyes fell to the people, a dwarf and two men, that stood in front of it. It would be a while until I next saw them in person and, using my mental camera, I snapped a photo. Brom standing, face set and one hand on his sword as he watched us, Murtagh watching us with his quiet wariness and Orik, good old Orik, leaning on his axe.

I turned away, took one last breath and followed Arya, Eragon and Saphira into the tunnel. This tunnel did not burrow through the mile-thick base to emerge outside like the western entrance to Farthen Dur. Instead this own proceeded underneath the mountain to emerge in the open valley that lay a mountain over from Farthen Dur. Apparently the valley was, traditionally, used by Riders and their dragons for easy take-off and landing.

As the tunnel swallowed me and my friends I wondered, not for the last time, where this journey would take me. Already I had crossed much of this land, seen three of its major cities, exchanged pleasantries with a dwarf king, pledged my support to a rebel leader and now I went to the elves. Lead on fate. I'm right behind you and so are you dear reader. For wherever fate take me you follow. I hope you have courage to spare for me - I'm beginning to wonder if I have what it takes. For, I knew, that far away in a treasure house in the city of Uru'baen was a dragon egg. That even farther away was a world I called home and that needed no more war after the one it had endured.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Yay! I did it - a chapter! I have some time off from school right now which means some writing! <strong>_

_**I do have a question for you readers: What to do about Roran...He needs to play a part in this story but, if I did include his chapters, they would be pretty canon and not very original because Zoe would not have any influence on him or the events that came before her arrival. If you would like to have a structure similar to the book where Eragon's story is broken up by Roran chapters then tell me. Otherwise I will just continue with my plan to do one big summary of his experiances when he reaches the Battle of the Burning Plains with the villagers. **_

_**Anyways! Just wanted to check and see what you guys think! :) I also wanted to reply to some people who have reveiwed (thank you everyone who did!) : **_

_**SoulBrisingr: Thank you! I am glad that you will be continuing your own story and thank-you for your advice! As for Murtagh and Thorn...well I'm working on it. I just have to figure out a logical reason/way for Murtagh to get the egg. I want him to be a Rider before the end of the series but I just have to figure out a plausible way for it to happen. Snapping my author fingers and just giving him the egg doesn't seem the right way to go about it. Thank you again and - please - keep reading and reviewing! **_

_**lamthe42: Yes there is a reason for that and yes it is because of that series. I came up with the idea for who Zoe is a long time before this fic and then just decided to use that story line I created by combining Narnia with Prydain with Megan Wheeler-Turner and the Tortall series. Originally I just wanted a 'girl in Alagaesia' but I got bored with it and took a leap of faith and twisted Zoe's origins around. I can give you a more detailed reason as well as how I came up with the idea if you want. Thank-you for reviewing! :)** _


	36. Chapter 36

He was alone.

The sitting room was a simple, cozy place with furniture designed for comfort and heavy use. In fact, it was one of the few rooms that had been set aside for the families of the High King. It was a place of refuge and solitude for the royal family; a family that was so often out on display for the world to see. It was here that many a fond childhood memories lay from winter nights spent curled up by the fire listening to stories of old to studying with his siblings to sharing relaxed dinners with his parents without the formality of court.

Pethred sighed and turned away to walk to the floor to ceiling windows that afforded a lovely view of the city below and the countryside that spread beyond its walls. Rain was coming if the bank of clouds to the east was any indication but weather was far from his mind. As he looked over the land that he called his kingdom and was as much a part of him as his heart was, he wondered at the peace that seemed to have settled over it. The scars of war had healed on the outside and, slowly, the wounds that been dealt to the hearts and minds of his subjects were healing as well. If only his own family was back together than maybe he would be able to find the peace that eluded him. His own wounds were as painful as they had been the day he had watched his father fall in battle and that, by right of birth, he was High King. They stung as fiercely as they had the day Zoe had not returned from patrol and one of her captains had returned with the news.

Turning to walk towards the desk he stopped and picked up a gilded frame that stood with a small collection of other frames among the neatly stacked children's books and forgotten papers. The image inside the frame was made with magic so it was a perfect replication of the sixteen year old girl. It had been made just after she accepted her full station as crown princess. That acceptance had meant not only taking the silver circlet of the house of Angard or the sword called Numir that had been crafted for her, but taking control over the Rangers that patrolled their far northern borders where the shadows of darkness had began to thicken after years of watchful peace. They were wild lands and yet so suited to his sister and brother - both of whom preferred those rugged places to the pomp and cermony of court. He Waldo preferred them but he had more tolerance for it then they did and, as oldest, had spent more time there as he prepared for the day when he would be High King.

Zoe was smiling in this image. Her grey-blue eyes, so like their mothers, were glittering with characteristic curiosity and laughter. Her dark hair was pulled back with a circlet glittering on her brow. Looking at her in this photo it was hard to imagine the changes she would undergo - the changes that had affected them all even carefree, loyal little Lucia who they had guarded so fiercely from the darkness and pain had changed. The last time he had seen Zoe her eyes had rarely sparkled with joy but been darkened with seriousness and the memories of bloody battles and heavy responsibilities.

She was gone, he thought. Off in some other world fighting. Why? Why Zoe? Why after all we endured did she have to go? Most important of all: Why their family? Eomund had explained as best he could - she would return when her duties in that other world were completed. If that world fell to some mad, power hungry King than they were in danger and no matter the strength of their enchanters or army would save them from this threat. Yet Eomund's words had done little to ease his worry or his fears for his sister. In fact they had only made him all the more worried.

The High King, a man of twenty-five, ran a hand through his golden hair. His crown was nothing more than a thin golden band which was nearly the same color as his hair which, from the constant running of a hand, stuck up at odd angles. How he wished he could be there! Beside his younger sister but, bound by his responsibilities, he could not. Here he was, a famously protective older brother, doing nothing while his sister risked everything to save a world that Pethred had not known existed until Eomund came in one morning as white as a sheet speaking of his 'vision.' His younger brother had been quite firm that their sister was not dead or lost like they had feared for an entire two years but merely on a quest of great importance. It was better, he supposed, that there was a chance of her returning - of their family be whole - and not preparing for her funeral.

His eyes fell on the other portraits as he set down the one of Zoe. Beside her was one done of Eomund when he, like his brother and sister before, accepted the full responsibility of being prince. There was a handful more, including one of Lucia as a bright blue eyed, golden haired ten year old laughing without a single care or worry. The one he treasured the most was one of their parents. It was not a formal portrait like the one of them done after their wedding or later on with their four children. Those hung in state and splendor along with the ones of previous High Kings and Queens. This one was much simpler and caught more of who the people in it were.

The King was standing behind his seated wife and both were smiling, without reserve, out of the frame. Queen Alyria looked like an older version of her eldest daughter. She had given both Zoe and Eomund the same grey-blue eyes and dark hair that belonged to those who lived along the coastline to the east - where her family was the ruling house. Behind her, his large swordsmen hands resting on his Queen's narrow shoulders, was the High King - their father. Pethred had always been told he looked like his father who, like his father before him, had the bright gold hair and blue eyes of the House of Angard. In this portrait the stern expression that the King had so often worn was gone. His face may have been care-worn and furrowed from the many years he had sat as High King but his eyes were keen and filled with stern pride and love. It was the man they had seen when he had gathered with his family in this room and listened to his children tell him of their adventures.

The grief, once so sharp and agonizing but now dulled with time and distance, rose once more within him. His parents were gone. Now, after swearing to his father that he would do all he could to protect his siblings, he had failed. Pethred had assumed with the war behind them and with stability returning to the kingdom that he would not have to worry about his family like he had during the dark times. He was wrong. Eomund may have been close at hand offering his support and so had Lucia who, while she was currently with their mother's parents on the coast to escape the summer heat of the city, would be returning soon enough - Zoe was gone. His proud and infuriatingly stubborn sister was gone and nothing he did could bring her back. The girl who had challenged him to bare back races on the soft sand by the ocean, who had been at his side through patrol after patrol, who had reminded him of who he was when their mother died and then been there when he became High King. The little girl who had run to him in tears when she fell and scraped her knee, who had demanded she learn to fight as well as any boy and, best of all, who he watched grow from a slender little girl who found it impossible to sit still into the sister he loved.

Shaking his head in an effort to clear the memories, he returned the portrait to the desk and went to leave the room. He stopped at the door and looked back at the room that had once been their haven and now was barely used. No one came here except to dust and occasionally open a window for some fresh air. The place seemed so empty and quiet - as if it was mourning the days past when it had been full of love and laughter. The air was heavy and stuffy.

One day, very soon, he and his siblings, all of them, would gather here again. Eomund with his bad puns and a chess game that he would always win, Lucia with her stories from her time with their grandparents and, most important of all, Zoe would be there and she would tell them of her adventures. They would tease each other and banter about the silliest things.

Pethred smiled and closed the door softly behind him. He couldn't wait. For now he would hold to that image and, even if he had to walk to the Land of the Dead and back, he would bring his sister home.

* * *

><p>The Beor Mountains were behind them.<p>

It was a jagged line along the horizon. It had taken four days of flying to put the mountains behind them and now they flew over the rippling grassy plains that turned into foot hills and then into the massive mountains that the dwarves called home. Saphira flew steadily beneath them, helped along by a tailwind that had been there for the last few days. It was, reflected Eragon, the first time he and Saphira had been able to fly steadily without turning back for companions on the ground since their disastrous first flight into the Spine.

Though he did enjoy the flight and the time he was able to spend just talking with Saphira or his companions, there was one slight problem. It made him smile to think of it but, after four days spent dealing with it, it was beginning to get to him. The problem in question was how little room there was on Saphira's back. Because the saddle was designed for two people if you were desperate, fitting three people plus bags had been a challenge. They had managed to rig the bags so they hung down Saphira's shoulders but did not negatively impact her as she flew. As for seating arrangements, well Eragon had never had the opportunity to really examine the color of Zoe's hair as he did now when she was squashed in between him and Arya. Saphira, unused to such a heavy load, had to stop every few hours to try and rest her wings. Despite this they were still covering far more ground then they ever would have by foot in the same amount of time. Had they been on foot they would probably have still been navigating though tunnels under the giant mountains.

Looking around Zoe's head he looked towards the horizon that stretched out in front of them. He could almost see a faint dark line that had to be the borders to the giant forest of Du Weldenvarden. The line was still hazy but it was there and would grow closer as they flew on towards it.

Stretching his arms out to the side in an effort to work out some of the stiffness, Eragon recalled the farewells made in Farthen Dur. He had given his permission to Nasuada to put her advertising campaign in actions. She had been quite pleased with his acceptance though Eragon was still quite reluctant about the whole thing. There was also a brief farewell to Orik and then to his father, who had told him, with that famous Brom scowl, not to be an air headed idiot. His father had spent, or at least it felt like he had, hours upon hours drilling this into his head along with keeping the reputation of the Rider's untarnished as well as behaving as a mature and capable man. It had nearly driven him around the bend not too mention given him a head ache. Then there was the good-bye between him and his older brother. Murtagh had had more to say than 'farewell and good luck' - quite a bit actually. It was another request which, after dealing with Nasuada's one, made it seem like he was going through a particularly bad patch of requests.

In many ways the request could have been seen as simple enough and it wasn't even made in the Ancient Language but it was made between two brothers. This request could even be seen as ridiculously unimportant considering all the lives and decisions that rested on him and his own choices. The request was even, compared to some, quite straightforward word wise: watch out for Zoe.

Watch out.

It was, thought Eragon with not a little amusement, an ironic thing. So often it was Zoe looking out for him or for Murtagh not the other way round. He knew from past experience that trying to guard Zoe or protect her as a man in Alagaesia was trained to would, as she had made abundantly clear, result in a particularly painful bruise or headache. Her lectures made on the subject were as fresh as ever, even thought it had been months since she had felt the need to vent on that particular subject. She did not, as she had told him again and again, require coddling or any more attention then would be given to the next person. After all they had experienced together, he agreed with her completely.

No, what Eragon thought Murtagh meant was not guard her from danger in the usual way but merely offer her companionship - which he already planned to do. He had the feeling that the two of them would rely on each other for the simple reason that they were the only two humans in the ancient forest. Besides, they were already close friends with an older sister/younger brother relationship. It was, or at least this was what Eragon thought it meant, Murtagh's attempt to keep a person he obviously cared about safe despite distance. He could only hope that nothing did happen and he did not have to face his brother and admit that he had failed to uphold even that.

Saphira, who had been paying attention to his thoughts, broke in. _Isn't it obvious why he did it Eragon? She was obviously amused by the idea that he was unable to see why this request meant so much to Murtagh._

_It doesn't seem obvious Saphira, _he defended a little insulted by her condescending tone.

_He cares for her,_ said the dragon as she continued with the air of someone explaining that two plus two equals four. _He cares for her as more than just a sister or friend._

_You mean he loves her_? asked Eragon who, after finding Zoe's dark hair a bit boring to look at, gazed with renewed interest at the girl in front of him. His brother?! Murtagh who loved his horse and his freedom but nothing else? Saphira had to have it wrong - after all surely he would have noticed it?

_How do you know? _he demanded.

Saphira chuckled though their link. _You only have to see the way he looks at her to know Eragon. I do not know how Zoe feels about it but I do know how Murtagh does. So does Arya and Brom. Perhaps 'love' is a bit of a strong word for how he feels but he does care a great deal for her. It has not had the time nor the circumstance to become anything like the 'love' you know of from stories._

_Oh_, said Eragon after he recovered his voice enough to respond, _so he asked me because he loves her?_

_Yes little one. Zoe is leaving for the elves - people that Murtagh does not trust after the stories he has heard in the Empire. In fact no one seems to trust them even Arya - who is an elf herself. Is it any wonder that, despite knowing that she is capable of looking after herself and that she is acting as an ambassador which automatically grants her protection, Murtagh is worried for her?_

_Lovely_, said Eragon morosely. _So if anything does happen to her I am dead meat._

_We are both dead meat,_ corrected Saphira. _Though I wouldn't worry too much little one. If something did happen I am sure that our time would be better spent worrying more about the thing that tried to attack Zoe than actually worrying about Zoe. She is quite fierce when angered._

_Maybe._ Eragon was silent as he considered the landscape flashing by as they flew onwards. Another question, something that had been bothering him these last few days, made him speak again. _What about Arya? She has been even more silent than usual._

Eragon had thought that, by travelling together, he would be able to learn more about Arya. He knew a few things like her birth right, that she had acted as ambassador and then as egg courier but little else about what her life had been like over the last century. In fact he knew next to nothing and, what he did know, were small snipits that he had found out from others.

Saphira, who had also been rather concerned for the elf, took her time in responding. _She is worried about returning home. From what she herself has said she and her mother, the Queen, did not part on good terms. Not only that but she has been assumed dead and my egg lost. She must feel a certain amount of guilt for the death's of her companions and the loss of the elves support when the Varden needed it most. Arya is returning home with us but she is returning to a mother who thought her dead and a kingdom that has isolated itself from the world._

_Mmmm...I suppose._

The Rider looked to the horizon. It would not be long now. Soon, too soon for his liking, he would be finding out just what was waiting for him under those trees. He had been warned, multiple times, by everyone from Angela to Orik about the dangers of elves and yet, without them, he could not hope to survive. It seemed rather contridicting that the people he was to trust were also the people he had to guard against.

Eragon had the sudden urge to reach out and ask Zoe to tell him what was waiting for him - everything from who his teachers would be to what the effects of Durza's curse would be but he couldn't. She had told him before that speaking of the future was dangerous and that he would just have to muddle through like he usually did. It was not a comforting thought. Manners that both Arya and Brom had drilled him in before leaving Farthen Dur, the prestige of being a Rider and, of course, Saphira could only help him so much. In the end he would have to look after himself and hope for the best.

* * *

><p>We made camp on the wide open prairies at sunset.<p>

Saphira, exhausted after the days flying, curled up around our small fire and promptly fell asleep. Her warm body provided both a shelter from the ever present wind and a place to lean against. After the four days of flying my muscles were cramped and sore.

I set a fire to going while Eragon prepared some of the various roots that Arya provided him with from her pack. It was, I will admit, rather amusing to see Eragon go vegetarian. His was a culture in which meat demonstrated wealth as well as social standing. He was in for quite a culture shock.

With dinner done, eaten in silence like the meals before, we all settled back into thought. Arya, sitting cross-legged on the ground was weaving grass strands together to form what looked like a bowl. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown as if by glaring at the grass strands she could somehow ease her entry into the ancient forest she had left so far behind. Eragon was sitting next to me, from the distant look on his face I guessed he was either conversing with Saphira or day dreaming. As for me, I was thinking of what awaited me in the forest of the elves.

In some ways going to the elves was a dangerous risk on my part. My mind may be impenetrable to attacks and probing thoughts but elves were expert readers of character. They would know I was more than I pretended be - I would be a fool to think that a girl with a heavily armored mind, a good education and battle experiance would be ignored especially if that girl was acting as an ambassador for both the dwarves (that would raise eyebrows) and the Varden (even more eyebrow raising).

My thoughts were interrupted by Eragon. "Zoe," he said. He was gazing up at the darkening night sky where, like little lightbulbs going on, the stars were beginning to appear. The moon was just cresting the horizon and it's cool light made Saphira's scales shimmer like ripples on a still pond.

"What?" I asked. Arya did not stop her weaving just continued to stare at her creation.

"What does your home look like?" The question caught me off guard. As soon was possible considering the circumstances, I had explained to Brom, Ersgon and Saphira the truth of who I was. I had left a great deal out it was true, like my parentage and birth right, but I had explained as much as I could to them including my purpose and how I had come to be lying in the middle of their camp that night. They had been stunned and Eragon had asked many a question but I had decided that having my true history in the open with two people I trusted completely was for the best. It did not seem right for them not to know the truth after all, they had been the ones who were there when I first landed in this place. It was Brom and Eragon who taught me what I needed to know to survive - the things that one cannot learn from some books and that I did not remember from my past life. It was because of them that I managed to get my memories back - or at least start the process of getting my memories back. I am devoted to accuracy here reader.

"What do you want know?" I said. Arya looked up at me with curiosity in her eyes. Her fingers kept weaving but I had her complete attention.

"Just what it looks like," said Eragon. Saphira turned her head so she was looking at me. Her giant eye was warm and it was hard to imagine that eye glowing with furious anger like it did in battle.

I leant back against Saphira as I remembered the sight of the fair city that I called home. " It is both a stronghold and place of trading but it is also a place of memory and beauty. In the streets of the city there are markets, gardens, theaters and everything else that goes with a large and central city. Inside the castle there is the Hall of Kings were the High King and his Queen sit in throne. There Is the Hall of Lore where knowledge is stored. Many come to study in the library there from students to adventurers to bards who travel the land spreading lore and music."

"Do you miss it?" said Eragon.

I did not begrudge the question. Remembering the city or the life I had lived in it this way did not inspire a pang of homesickness in me. If anything it helped me sort through the memories and order them. "I miss it," I said finally. I looked up at the night sky. It was not Earth's night sky nor was it my world's sky but it was still a sky. Those stars still shone as brightly and as distantly as they did any world. They made me want to wish, like I had done as a child, for something that was out of my reach.

Feeling as if I needed to elaborate on my words, I continued. "I miss it but sometimes," I lowered my gaze to Eragon who was gazing at me steadily, "you must miss something because it makes returning to it all the better. By leaving, by letting go, you can come back stronger, maybe a little wiser, than you were before."

I turned my head a little to look at Arya. The elf met my gaze for a second before returning her attention to the tightly woven bowl she had created. Eragon was the first to break the silence. His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the silence that had fallen over the campsite.

"What will be the first thing you do when you return?" I looked up at him, surprised and amused by his question. The Rider was almost smirking at me, his brown eyes flickering with amusement.

I closed my eyes and pictured the various homecomings I had been part of during my life. There were the trips to my mother's family on the coast during the summer to escape the heat of the city for the ocean. My father would be waiting for us at the entrance to the castle with his arms open and asking us countless questions about our trip. Then the times we had returned from patrols - injured and exhausted - with tidings of evil creatures that were stirring and openly challenging us. Whatever the occasion or reason for the homecoming there was always one constant: one of our family was always waiting at the top of the steps into the entrance chamber that lay just beyond the great doors.

Smiling at the scene I pictured in my mind's eye I spoke. "I suppose that my brothers and little sister will be there. Maybe some other friends and probably a lot of people I don't care to remember." Opening my eyes I asked with a playful smirk, "What about you Eragon? What kind of homecoming can you expect from those you left behind?"

Eragon glanced down and was silent for many long moments. At last he shrugged, "I don't know. I ran-away after all and Roran will want to hear the real reason for Garrow's death and my...departure."

I rested a hand gently on his shoulder. I had, quite foolishly, forgotten that for Eragon a homecoming meant confronting the demons that he had run from. His uncle's death because of Saphira, his own inability to act decisively when the Ra'zac attacked and then the pain of choosing between running and staying were what awaited him when he was reunited with his cousin and friends from Carvahall. Without thinking of what my words would do I had spoken them - what an idiot I was!

"Eragon," I said softly as he raised his eyes to mine. Inwardly I was berating myself for my careless and insensitive words. "You made a choice that was difficult but it was made for the right reasons. You did what you did to protect your home and Roran not to intentionally hurt them or because you were not strong enough."

"I ran. I was not strong enough, Zoe, not before the Ra'zac or after."

I shook my head firmly. "You are wrong Eragon. You knew, as you do now, that you could not hope to defeat the Ra'zac or remain in the valley. If you had you would currently be the King's favorite new toy along with Saphira. Do not tell yourself you failed or were weak because, in the end, you weren't. You set aside your own fears and grief for the good of your cousin and friends. It is that which makes what you did noble and selfless."

Eragon nodded. I did not know if my words had had any effect on him or if they would give him cause to think differently over the events surrounding his departure from Carvahall. I hoped they did. If it was one lesson I had learned through the years it was that, blaming yourself for things you could not change, would only destroy everything you were and had to do. Coming to terms with the past was not easy - far from it - but it was better than the alternative. There is no moving on without finding closure and coming to peace with the action itself and the consequences of it.

It was not long after - with Arya still silent as a tomb - that we settled down for the night. I could not find sleep while Eragon, who seemed to have returned to himself after my stupid words, fell off right away. Saphira was also fast asleep.

Finally, too irritated with myself and unable to stay lying down, I rose. Arya glanced at me, confused by apparent wakefulness. In the distance a wolf howled only to be joined by others to create a symphony of howls, yips and barks that seemed a fitting accompaniment to the starry night sky and open plains. How romantic, I suppose.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to run until I forgot who I was and what I had to do. I wanted to run until my lungs could not supply me with enough oxygen and I was forced to stop. On this night I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be alone with my memories, my hopes, my fears, my faults and my destiny.

Looking at Arya I undid my sword and placed it by my pack. Running with it would only result in bruises to the side of my left leg. The elf was even more stunned and her expression made me smile slightly. "I'll be back," I said already looking to the east. "I just need to be alone for a little while."

"I understand," said Arya. "You will keep your bow?"

"Yes."

"Then go. When you return I will leave myself."

I smiled at her and she, tense and nervous as she was, returned it. The two of us, so different and yet so similar, understood each other.

Without looking back, I took off. You are going to have to stay at the camp though reader. Like I said, this was when I, Zoe, come to grips with who I was. It may sound corny - an overused thing - but I need to do this now and before I was surrounded by elves. Don't worry - I'll be back and soon to. I will loose my restless energy which has been building and building since I first woke in Farthen Dur. I will reach a balance mentally that will allow me to deal with the coming politics and, even better, I will get to run in an open prairie and feel as if I have all the time and all the freedom in the world.

I shall run and run and run.


	37. To Move Forward and To Look Back

Trees. Trees. Trees. And more trees. Don't get me wrong - I love trees! - but wow. This was a forest. This was the full meal deal and it stretched on and on until it hit the curved dome of the horizon. Wow. Amazing. Awe-inspiring. They were all words that could be used to describe this place but they don't due it justice. Words have their limitations. Sometimes, like in Farthen Dur, I just can't convey what a place is really like. This is one of those times when you either have to visit the place or just me on this.

Ah but you are giving me that look again. Sorry, maybe I should back up a little. I've left you hanging as I wander through my thoughts and gaze at the tops of mighty oaks and elms. You are not here to hear me ramble about trees and the trials of being a story-teller. No, you are here for another purpose - a much bigger purpose - and I am being laxed in my duties. It must be irritating for me to go skipping from last night on the plains to mid-afternoon the next day. Let us go back a little. Ready? Excellent, I am ready to...

* * *

><p>The morning, with its chilly dawn and faint glow to the east, came early for it was early summer in this world and the days were long. As the light began to spread across the vast dome of the sky it sent streamers of pink, gold, red, blue and purple shooting off like fireworks. To the west the sky was still inky black punctuated with small bright stars that sparkled like diamonds cast across black velvet.<p>

Arya was bent over the small camp fire as she tried to create something more interesting then stewed roots in water. I hoped that, after a century of practice, she knew what she was doing because I certainly did not want to try and stomach something as unappetizing as stewed roots in hot water - again. Ugh.

Eragon was sorting through something or other in his saddle bags and Saphira had left for a brief morning hunt. The blue dragon was off chasing the fat herds of deer that wandered the foothills and plains that lay between the Beors and Du Weldenvarden.

I, after sitting silently, decided that it was time to broach a subject that needed to be discussed here, before introductions were made and stories were told to a certain queen and her court.

I cleared my throat - a sound that was unnaturally loud and awkward in the silence that lay over the camp. "Eragon. Arya." The two of them glanced up. Eragon with a distracted but curious look on his face while Arya did not loose her mask like indifference. I continued, this time with their attention, "I need to speak to the pair of you before we reach out destination."

"What needs to be said?" asked Eragon as he buckled the saddle bag closed and began to fiddle with the straps that attached it to Saphira's saddle.

"A great deal," I said seriously. I paused, gathered my thoughts, and then continued. "When we reach Du Weldenvarden both you and Arya will be expected to discuss your adventures. This also means that you will have to explain not only how you met me but why you trust me and how I came to be traveling with you."

I paused, let them think about that for a moment and then continued. "I will also have to give an explanation for myself but whatever is said must agree with what you both say."

"Ah," said Arya with a frown as she glanced down at the bubbling pot that was placed over the reddish flames. "I had forgotten about that. Though, once you bring it to mind, I see how important it is. My forgiveness Zoe, I have been caught in my own thoughts."

"No apologies please Arya," I said as I looked down at my hands. "Though I appreciate them I understand your position completely and have the utmost sympathy for you. However, I have not forgotten about it and I have been thinking a little of what needs to be said. I cannot let any more people know either about my true origins or the knowledge I contain. It is too dangerous for too many people, whether they swear oaths in the Ancient Language or not, to know what I know."

"How can it be avoided though?" said Eragon, frowning with concentration. "I could just say that you knew Brom and met us outside of Yazuac. That is the truth - you did know both of us but not in the conventional way. Then you travelled with us for a time, left, and then returned. I can leave out all the details in Gil'ead and gloss over your skills with weapons and," the Rider smirked, "with words if you want."

"Yes," I said. "That may work." I had my doubts though. There were too many holes and those listening would quickly grow suspicious. They would know that Eragon was not being open about me or his adventures with Brom. I bit my lower lip nervously - why had I done this again? Thrown myself in over my head without looking at what I was jumping into. When would I learn...not this time apparently.

"What will you say?" asked Arya as she stirred the pot. "You cannot, at least in the Ancient Language, say that you are from Alagaesia. Nor can you pretend to be some wanderer who means nothing Zoe. You bear the mark of power and all of your actions speak to your skill as both a warrior and as someone who acts independently of any single power."

"Maybe not," I said, "but neither can I say that I am really from another world, know the future because of a series of books, mean no harm and come in peace?" My voice rose at the end and I suddenly realized that I was gripping my hands so tightly that my knuckles were white. Forcing myself to relax, I said softly, "I am sorry for that. I did not mean to snap at either of you."

Arya waved her hand in my direction and Eragon shrugged. "It is fine Zoe," said the Rider. "We are all nervous," he glanced at Arya warily before continuing, "of what awaits us in Du Weldenvarden."

"That is no reason for me to get frustrated," I said firmly. Looking to the sky which was beginning to lighten as the stars flickered out like lightbulbs being flicked off. The sun was coming and with it another day of travel. Looking back to my companions, I twisted a strand of hair about my finger as I tried to be logical about all of this. "What about this for a plan," I said.

Arya and Eragon looked at me expectantly and I continued. "Eragon you will leave out you how you really met me and my skills. Instead you will just say I travelled with you and Brom a little but was separated from you by Urgals. We met up again in Dras'Leona and have been together since then. I have been both a friend and a companion to you, Saphira and Brom."

"What do I say?" said Arya. "My mother will try and force me to tell her more about you. She dislikes her opponents having their cards hidden."

Her words made me smile faintly. Another voice, my mother's in fact, echoed through my head: _A Queen must be able to maneuver all her opponents and allies silently and without their knowledge. To do that you must understand all those who play our games as well as you know yourself. _

"Any Queen," I said meeting the elf princess's green eyes, "would rather control all the players on the board or at least know what players there are. Trust me," I said with a small smirk, "I was lectured on the topic from the time I was old enough to know what the game of power was." Arya looked surprised and, maybe a touch irritated to find me defending her mother however slightly. However, she said nothing and so I continued. "What you say to her will be what you choose to say. If you think she should know more of me than I give you permission to say whatever you will."

Arya nodded, "I shall not I think," said the elf slowly, "tell her anything without you present. It is your past and your right to know what and how it is said."

It is a wonderful thing to have friends that you can count on. So often, I think, we find ourself surrounded by people who we don't really know or who will not be there when we really need them. But good friends are always there. You may hear it often reader but a good friend, a true friend, is worth far more than any treasure in any world. So I am going to sa_y_ this_: Keep them close for one day a good friend will be as necessary as the air you breathe. _

"Thank you Arya," I said gratefully. The problem was not solved - far from it - but at least it was at the forefront of everyone's mind. What happened would happen. What was said would be said. I could only wait and hope that the skills picked up after long lessons and experience in such situations. Though, I will admit, even in the long years spent as a representative for my father I had never had to exchange stories with an elven Queen, an ancient dragon rider and a court full of watchful elven nobles.

There is a first for everything. Who knows? Maybe I will be forced to reveal my true past but, if that did happen, it would not be for lack of trying. I was Zoe. How dramatic I know…but I love the dramatic and have always had a flair for it.

The morning passed much like the other mornings before it. Once Saphira returned and we had eaten our fill of stewed roots (I'm trying to be positive) we took off or rather Saphira took off with us on her.

However, as we flew onwards, the dark line that stretched across the horizon began to take shape. It was a dark line, a forbidding one that seemed to both warn and intrigue the more I looked at it. I could not help but feel that to enter that dark forest was to leave behind who I was and, if I did emerge, I would be forever altered. As the land changed from arid plains to small clumps of forest and lush grass, I knew we were growing closer.

Finally, just as the sun began to fall towards the edge of the horizon, Arya bade Saphira to land in a small meadow. The clearing was beside the river that traced its way from the ancient forest all the way to the Beors. It was just large enough for Saphira to land comfortably and yet small enough that she had to be careful not to stretch her wings to far out to the side.

When I dismounted, sore and stiff, from Saphira I could not help but breathe in deeply as I stepped away from the blue dragon. The air in this little clearing was fresh and sharp - I felt as if I was breathing in magic and the very fabric of this place was created of ancient, uncontrollable magic that threatened to overwhelm me with its wild music.

I stepped forward and gazed around me. The grass was lush beneath my feet like a plush carpet and the wild flowers gave off a heady smell. _And this, _I thought wonderingly, _is the fringe of the elves home. What will it be like in the heart of this place? _Du Weldenvarden was not just a forest, it was a place so old and so imbued with power that to enter it was accept that magic into your very soul.

Arya stepped forward and then, when she stood alone, cried in the ancient language, "Come forth my brethren! You have nothing to fear. 'Tis I, Arya of Ellesmera and House Drottning, My companions are allies; they mean us no harm!"

The silence that followed her words was almost unbearable for me. The magic of the forest was slowly smothering me, calling me to join it in its wild music. It was taking all my strength, all my will power, to refuse it. For I wanted to join that magic, it was calling to that part of me that I had felt awaken in Farthen Dur during the battle.

Suddenly, snapping me back to the material world, came a quick line of Elvish that was so fast that I could not catch the words. However, with a firm nod of her head, Arya responded: "I do."

With a rustle of leaves, two elves stood on the edge of the forest and two ran lightly out of the boughs of a gnarled oak. The swift lightness of their footsteps made the warrior part of me uneasy. As they came a little closer I made out their weapons in the slowly fading light. Those on the ground bore long spears with sharp, glittering tips that reflected the red and gold sunset. The others all bore bows that were as finely crafted as the one that Arya carried. All of them were garbed in tunics of light grey and green that served to only make them more impossible to distinguish from the forest. Two of them were dark haired, one silver and the other a bright golden blonde. The elves seemed to glow softly and their faces were impossibly fair with delicate features and sharp eyes.

The elves dropped from the trees and embraced Arya, laughing in their clear, pure voices. The sound made the air shiver with the sounds of their wind chime like mirth. As they laughed they joined hands and danced, like children playing ring-around-the-rosie, around Arya.

Beside me Eragon, looking faintly bemused, rested a hand against Saphira who, like her Rider, looked on at the scene with laughter glinting in her large blue eyes. I, on the other hand, still felt the intoxicating effects of the magic that made up this place. As swiftly as I could, I erected every single barrier I could imagine around my mind in an effort to block the wild magic that echoed around this place. I was determined not to allow myself to be carried away by that magic - I felt as if that to allow it would mean I could never return to myself.

It was then, as the elves stopped their merry-making that they seemed to notice the rather large blue dragon and the two people standing beside her. Their eyebrows rose in alarm and they all swiftly turned to Arya, ready to demand an explanation from her. The slender hands gripped the smooth wood of those deadly spears and bows.

Arya, speaking quietly and swiftly, motioned first at Eragon and then at me. She was, no doubt, giving the abbreviated version of who her human companions were but her words were too soft for me to catch.

When she stopped, the elves underwent another rapid mood change. Their faces lost the alarm and instead they smiled widely and moved closer to us. They stopped first in front of Saphira and pressed their forefingers to their lips in the traditional greeting before bowing low.

Eragon, no doubt remembering those lessons in etiquette, returned their greetings with smooth ease.

It was then, confusion glinting in their eyes that the elves turned to me. I saw interest and curiosity in those bright, angled eyes that gazed at me so intensely that I felt as if I was on display.

That other part of me, the mask of the crown princess, flicked on as I inclined my hand and twisted my hand in the traditional greeting. The elves surprise flashed through their eyes but they quickly covered it as they too greeted me. I knew, without a doubt, that I had intrigued them and, I had the feeling, that elves would not allow their curiosity to go unsatisfied. Their names, in the order they addressed me, were: Lifaen of House Rilvenar, Edurna of House Silfrie, Celdin of House Tadion, and Nari of House Calderna.

With greetings finished the elves turned and waved their hands as they called out, "Come!"

So we followed. As the canopy of trees closed overhead, as the darkness became thick and the air heavy with moisture the feeling of entering the unknown intensified.

As the elves called out directions and I followed close behind the blue dragon, I suddenly realized what the magic was trying to tell me with its shifting tunes. It was trying to welcome me and that part of me, that part that awoken so briefly when I needed it in Farthen Dur, was calling out to the magic and pulling me into the power. No matter how many barriers I erected, no matter what I did, I could not continue to refuse it.

The moment I accepted this and let my barriers fall away, I suddenly felt lighter and free - so wondrously light - as the power drew me in. Or was it the other way? It did not force me to loose my myself nor did it sweep me away as I settled into the twisting strands of power. Instead it settled around me and quieted down from its wild tempest of magic that was unfettered by either words or emotions.

I smiled and shivered at the feeling of raw power running through me. The power quickly died down but I knew it was still there and it felt like a missing piece of my identity had just been returned to me. I raised my chin proudly for, despite the impenetrable darkness and the strangeness of the elves and their ways, I felt strong.

* * *

><p>Arya felt...she felt like an outsider. She felt as if she, not Zoe or Eragon, was the human entering this forest for the first time. In comparison she felt impossibly awkward and uncomfortable when surrounded by her own people. She had been out in the world - become harden - while they had been sheltered behind thick wards. She had been tortured, had fought and killed alongside men and dwarves and they...they had not! They had practiced for that far away day but never ventured into a world where those skills meant the difference between life and death. She - a princess! - felt rough and cold in both appearance and manners.<p>

Arya stood by one of three huts that were clustered around the base of a large oak. The small outpost was one of many spread out through the perimeter of the forest. High in the tree was a roofed platform where a watchman could observe the river and forest. A small fire already burned by the huts and its light sent shadows dancing across the forest floor. On the fire a pot of bubbling vegetable stew was already cooking.

She sighed softly. Soon, too soon, she would have to revisit the events that had led to her mother's choice to close their borders to the Varden and the hatching of Saphira. She knew that Lifaen and those who served under him well enough to trust them with the knowledge but that did not make speaking of it any easier.

Looking to Saphira she saw the dragon spread out beside Eragon who leaning against the corner of one of the huts. The two were watching the elves preparing the meal with interest and she wondered what they were speaking of. Not for the first or the last time she wished she to had a companion like Saphira. To be able to share not only words but emotions and thoughts freely and with complete trust...how she wished for it! How she longed to share her doubts, her fears, her memories and cast aside her walls!

She broke the train of thought forcibly and looked for Zoe. The girl was standing with her back to the fire and the elves there. Her back was to Arya and she was standing so still she might have been a statue. Her weapons glinted in the light cast by the fire. Of all the things she could have thought about, looking at her made the elf wonder what it must be like to know, waiting for you at home, was a warm welcome. A family that loved you and wished for you to return? Was it harder to know that, far away, those loved ones were worrying for you? Was this jealously…surely not. She did not, was above, feeling something so petty like jealously especially of a person who had as many responsibilities and duties as Zoe did.

No, if she was truly honest it was fear. It was a deep fear that had lingered within her for years and years – something that she had ignored for just as long. When she was frightened she had mastered it and confronted it. She had lived by the rule that she was not ruled by that emotion. This was not that type of fear - this was the fear of rejection. She had already been rejected by her mother once and now she risked it time there was no Faolin to comfort her or an unhatched dragon egg that needed her to guard it.

As dinner was served, as Lifaen and the others played their instruments she sat quietly. Celdin went up to the watch deck on duty while the others went into the various huts. A significant look from Lifaen made her remember her promise to give a full explanation.

Rising from the ground Arya looked around for her companions. They had been silent, no doubts tired after the constant travelled, and Arya half expected to see Zoe and Eragon sleeping with the exhausted Saphira. To her surprise they were not and, curious, she moved closer to hear what they were saying. Their voices were too quiet for her to hear but she did not want to interrupt and so she crept into the shadows by one of the huts and listened closely.

"Yesterday you just said you could look forward to a homecoming but what about after?" asked Eragon as he traced a pattern in the soft soil.

"Why the sudden interest in the future?" asked Zoe. The fire light was reflected in her eyes as she rested her chin on her knees which she had drawn up to her chest. She looked young - very young - right then to Arya.

"Because I have been thinking about it," said the Rider. "Both Saphira and I have been thinking about what awaits us after all this is done."

"After Galbatorix is dead?"

"Yes," said Eragon. "I cannot return to Carvahall or the life I had once. So, if not that, then what will become of me? Of Saphira?" The blue dragon snorted slightly but, if she commented, Arya was not privy to it.

"I suppose," said Zoe slowly, "that I will have to find a way to settle back into the life I had once. I must reconnect with my family, my friends and find out what has changed." Arya moved a little closer, wanting to hear more. Zoe sighed and continued, "I have duties and responsibilities. I once led a group of rangers who patrolled the northern borders of the kingdom. Perhaps I will return to them or maybe my older brother will want me elsewhere. I will not know until I am once again in my homeland."

"I fear the future," said Eragon so softly that Arya had to strain her elven ears to catch the Rider's words. "I wish I could slow and stop time so that I never had to face Galbatorix or, in some ways even more frightening, what lies beyond that."

Zoe was silent for so long that Arya wondered if she would ever respond. When she did her voice was tired. It was the voice of someone who had lost and gained, who had sacrificed for something bigger then they were and who, when all was said and done, would have to do it again.

"Someone very wise and very dear to me once told me that I needed to stop trying to get somewhere and, instead, let the future unfold as it would. I had to let things come to me – not the only way around. That person also told me that, if I held true to myself and what I loved, then I would not fail. You must do the same Eragon. Saphira."

She raised her face and the firelight hit it making her hair shine and her eyes glitter. Her face lost the youthful, reflective look and took on one that could only be described as proud and determined. She seemed to glow with vitality, with a fierce determination that made her stand out from the shadows. In that moment she lost any vestige of the Zoe Arya knew and became the Zoe of another world who was born to an ancient and royal family. Suddenly she became a leader – a queen – someone who inspired and expected loyalty. Her voice, still quiet, became as hard as steel. She seemed to be speaking to herself as much as she was to Eragon as she sat there, back perfectly straight as she looked straight ahead.

"Every choice you make, every step you take will determine what your fate is. Sometimes we cannot do what we wish we could do. Sometimes we wish we had never entered this game but you cannot go back Eragon. None of us can. We can only go forward and, when we are afraid, we must master that fear."

She fell silent again and seemed to return to the Zoe that Arya knew. The girl that was still unsure of herself, who still felt out of her depth, who did not trust herself to handle the game of power and who would rather sit quietly in a corner than speak openly. The power, the proud princess who had commanded armies, faded away and left the girl behind.

Eragon broke the silence, "It won't be easy will it? Even if I do manage to defeat Galbatorix?"

Zoe placed her chin back on her knees as she gazed at the fire. "No, life is never and will never be easy. Sometimes the hardest thing is moving on after you climb the impossible mountain. When a journey is complete you must start another one that is just as challenging and just as fulfilling. When they say that it is the journey counts just as much, if not more, than the goal they are right. It takes courage. So much courage."

Arya heard the sounds of the other elves quietly speaking as they talked among themselves. Soon she would have to go join them and speak about the events that had occurred during her absence. Yet she did not want to leave. She wanted to keep listening for she found some comfort in Zoe's words even if they were not meant for her but for Eragon and Saphira.

Before she could withdraw and make her way to the small hut where Lifaen and the others were waiting for her, Eragon spoke. Now he sounded rather curious, "Zoe."

"Yes," said the girl as she gripped her knees tighter.

"You didn't have to come with Brom, Saphira and I. You could have gone your own way. Why did you choose to come and then stay with us?"

Zoe chuckled, "Why? Oh Eragon...why not? I had to stay with you. Firstly because I did not know how to survive by myself in the wild and because...well I suppose I knew that I had to go with you. I could have left you and muddled through but I didn't because by traveling with you I was fulfilling a purpose that I did not know of. And I don't regret it."

"Really?" asked Eragon. "But you could have died so many times Zoe! All because of me. Surely you wish you were back home with your siblings instead of facing Durza, Urgals and everything else."

Zoe turned her head to look at Eragon and, hidden in the shadows, Arya. Her eyes were soft - the grey-blue like the sea on a calm day. "I would gladly face it all again Eragon. You both are friends. But," her eyes twinkled with mirth, "if it makes you feel less uncomfortable then I also did it because if Alagaesia falls than so will my home. I am fighting for you and for all those who cannot fight for themselves."

Eragon nodded slightly and Saphira shifted. Once again, Arya had the feeling that the dragon was speaking but what she said the elf could not hear for she was not included in the mental link. Whatever was said made Zoe chuckle again as she rested her cheek on her knees. Her face turned towards the dragon and her Rider.

"Now Eragon," said the girl with mock sterness. "You had better not forget what I have told you today. I hate going over things twice."

"I shan't," said Eragon and the emotion in those two words made Arya wonder just how much Zoe's advice had meant to him.

"Good," said Zoe and she laughed. It was such a sudden sound, so surprising and so unexpected that Arya nearly jumped. "Just think," said the girl and now her face seemed to shine with child like wonder. "Where we are and how far we have come."

"Indeed," said Eragon with a small laugh of his own, "but I think I will prepare for bed."

Arya drew away then and made her way to the small hut where she was expected. Her thoughts twirled and twisted just as her frayed nerves did. Glancing up at the sky she could not see a single star. The forest canopy blocked them out. She would miss them but, if all went well, then it would not be long before she was back in the outside world. A world, ironically, that she felt more comfortable in then one she was born to.

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><p><em><strong>Chapter time...at last...soooooo sorry! but I hope this made up for it and that you enjoy it! Elves are a bit hard to write but oh well - I hope I did ok! I am thinking that I maybe need to shrink my chapters a bit so let me know if you would prefer smaller - more bite sized ones - in the future. :) <strong>_

_**Thank you to all my amazing reviewers and readers! You guys are soooo awesome! So thank you and please keep reviewing and reading! **_


	38. To Enter a New World

So we are back again. Back to the moment where we first started. Back to Saphira's saddle as the forest of Du Weldenvarden disappears beneath us. Back to me. You are sitting with me, with Eragon and with Arya. You are sitting here as the wind buffets us and the shines down brightly on us the emerald green trees that stretch out endlessly all around us. Here you have left everything behind as you join me on this journey.

I wonder what would happen to you, to your world, if Galbatorix won and began his divide and conquer plan that would Would you feel the effects of this failure? Would we meet in a prison cell as a mad King and his dragon shook the very foundations of time and space? What would we say to each other if we did meet...would you blame me for the mess because of my meddling? Meddling that you, merely a passenger along for the ride, witnessed and watched with silent but growing horror?

I hope not. I really do. I hope that you and I will never meet under such circumstances when our worlds are thrust together because of war.

Am I rambling again? I suppose I am and I know that you don't have the time nor the desire to listen to my ramblings. They are useless speculations that will lead nowhere. No doubt you have places to be, things to do and a busy life that awaits you when you leave me. Your life might be one of touch and go. You might never had intended to be caught up in this whole affair but somehow you did. I don't even know why you have stayed with me. Why you didn't just pass this by...but I can't ask you these questions. For now at least this communication only goes one way.

So let us skip this part of the journey. It is dull and, unless you like my ramblings, then we should continue. On to Ellesmera and its hidden secrets. On to the place where Arya will have to confront her fears. On to the place where Eragon and Saphira will become who they are meant to be.

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><p>We stopped for the night in a small clearing. The evening was a silent affair - very silent - and before take off the next morning I took the opportunity to bathe in a fast flowing stream that ran beside our little campsite. The further we had travelled into the forest the thicker and taller the trees grew. Here, almost in the centre of the ancient forest, some of the trees were over two hundred feet tall with girths of over seventy feet. These were some of the oldest living things on this land they had their own kind of wisdom. A wisdom that filled the air and the silences with a heavy kind of waiting. There was patience here, a patience that had been developed by years and years of quiet watching and waiting.<p>

It was early morning but little to no light reached through the canopy of the forest. At night we were plunged into a blackness so complete I almost thought I was blind and kept jumping at even the slightest noise. Testing the water with one foot I gritted my teeth and jumped in. The water, far from warm, was 'invigorating' to put it simply and I was out and in as fast as I could possibly manage.

Despite my desperation to escape the frigid water I prepared myself with special care for the following events. According to Arya the city was less than a few hours flight from here. It had been one of the few things she had managed to say the previous night. Dinner was one affair I would rather not go back to - her tension had only made all of ours worse and even Saphira had been affected by it.

Speaking of Saphira, I had the feeling she would be relieved to rest her wings a little in Ellesmera. Carrying all three of us plus supplies had pushed to the very ends of her flying abilities. It had been lucky that a tail wind had supported her for most of the flight and that she was able to stop for regular breaks. She had been quite silent on the trip, speaking only with Eragon and occasionally including either Arya or I but, for the most part, she had concentrated on keeping as all aloft.

Once I as clean as one could be - it felt so lovely - I dressed once again in my simple black leather clothing. I knew now that this style of flexible, durable and soft leather outer-gear was common among the rangers I had once ridden with. I twisted my hair in an effort to rid it of any excess water. My hair had grown from just below my shoulders to half way down my back. The dark, nearly black locks, had only become thicker as it became longer and it was quickly become rather unmanageable. Irritated with the hair I swiftly braided it up in the style I used at Ajihad's funeral and many times before that. Soon it would be time to chop the lot of it off.

When I was dressed, I took a few minutes to merely sit on a wide, smooth rock that was beside the rushing stream. I allowed my thoughts to float away along with my worries and nervous adrenaline that made me want to run all the way to Ellesmera. In its place a certain amount of tranquility filled me. It made my thoughts sharper but it calmed me - it took me to a place that was both quiet and yet because of that quiet I could hear and sense more. As if everything had been slowed down and then sharpened.

During the time spent on Saphira I had entered that mind numbing state of boredom that one feels when sitting in a car on an extended road trip. Now I needed to clear my thoughts of that sluggish dull feeling.

When my few minutes were up I returned to the campsite. Arya was already standing beside a patiently waiting Saphira. The elf did not even look at me thought Eragon seemed to relieved that I had returned - if only to provide a buffer from Arya. The Rider had been sitting by a tree examining a cluster if snowberries that grew by his feet but he rose quickly at my return.

I noticed with some amusement that he had also done his best to prepare himself for the coming audience. He had changed from the clothes he had worn for travel into another, simple but clean, tunic and breeches.

I quickly gathered my weapons and remounted along with the others. Once we were safely secured in her saddle, Saphira pushed off the soft forest floor and we gained altitude and emerged into the bright sunlight of early morning - winging our way towards our fates.

We stopped after three hours of the never ending hills of prickly green that rolled unbroken to the very edge of the world. When Saphira settled to the ground we dismounted and stood, waiting silently, for Arya to speak. It had been she who had told Saphira to land and I knew why but the dragon and been rather confused by it as had Eragon.

Which she did after resting one slender hand on the bark of an ancient tree that towered like a silent guardian above us. "We must continue on foot now. We will already have triggered certain wards that protect Ellesmera. It would be unwise to stray from the path so follow close behind me."

Silently, one hand on my sword, I followed behind the elf. The forest was quiet, not unnaturally so but still quiet enough that I felt as if I was being watched. As if each and every footfall, no matter how light, reverberated through the air and signaled something to someone.

I knew, with a single glance at Eragon, that he was overcome by the solemn beauty of the place. By the timeless feel to the trees and the land. But I could not appreciate it. There was so much magic, so much age and so much power concentrated in this land. It made me feel uneasy as if at any moment that power would rise up and destroy everything in its path.

We had been walking for a few minutes with Saphira trailing behind us when Arya suddenly stopped. A thin beam of sunlight broke through the leaves and illuminated her face as she turned to look at us. "Tread softly all of you for now...now you enter my world."

I met her gaze squarely, "Then lead on Arya Drottning," I said evenly. "For we have not journeyed all this way to turn away."

_No, _said Saphira from behind us. Her words seemed to hold a challenge as if she was daring Arya to turn away from the path. _We cannot and will not turn away from this fate. _

Arya merely nodded her face inscrutable. "Then let us continue."

So we did. Until, in a sudden burst of bright light, an elf appeared before us. The sudden arrival of this powerful, noble and inscrutable elf made me freeze mid-step. My first reaction, quickly suppressed, was draw my sword but I managed to quell it in favor of merely examining this elf. He was garbed in flowing white robes that were so pristine it made it hard to look at him because of the reflection. A circlet of silver rested on his brow and it was nearly the same color as his bright silver hair that glinted in the light that surrounded him.

"Eragon," murmured Arya. "Show him your palm."

Eragon stepped forward and raised his right hand so that the silvery mark of the gedwey ignasa was visible. The elf smiled. The smile sent shooting warmth through me for it was so kind and so welcoming that one could not help but want to smile right back.

It was my turn. Before leaving Tronjheim Brom had entrusted me with a ring, not Aren, but one of similar design with an identical mark. The ring, left in Ajihad's care in case a need for it arouse, was given to me when I accepted the responsibility of ambassador to the elves. The sapphire with its etched mark was set in silver that was also engraved with runes in the Ancient Language.

As the elf turned to look at me I inclined my head in recognition and drew the ring from an inner pocket. It was too large for my slim fingers and I disliked wearing rings - they had only ever cut my hands when I used my bow or sword. The elf smiled, closed his eyes, and raised his arms as if to both bless us and to welcome us. He held the posture until, with another bright illumination of light, he vanished like mist in the sunlight.

"The way is clear," said Arya and with that we continued forward. As we walked forward I felt as if I passed through a slightly resistant, almost hard, invisible barrier. For a brief second it was almost hard to take a step forward but as soon as I did the feeling disappeared and I almost wondered if I had imagined it.

_Who is he? _asked Saphira.

"Gilderien the Wise, Prince of House Miolandra, wielder of the White Flame of Vandil, and guardian of Ellesmera since the days of Du Fyrn Skulblaka, out war with the dragons. None may enter the city unless he permits it."

It was not far beyond that that the forest thinned and breaks started to appear within the canopy, allowing planks of mottled sunlight to filter through. Then we passed underneath two burled trees that leaned against each other and stopped at the edge of an empty glade.

It was like stepping into a florist shop. Flowers were everywhere and in every shape, color and smell you could possibly imagine. To the right, a stream flowed along filling the air with its merry sound of chuckling water. A pair of squirrels chased each other around a rock. The entire place felt too perfect - too unreal - as if, in an effort to protect nature, the elves had made things just too right. There was nothing that had not been touched by magic and, while it was not the same as covering everything with stone and metal, one could not say it was truly a forest. It was a forest that had been tampered with and I found myself longing for a breath of air that was free of this power. To see any imperfection or flaw to reassure myself that it was real.

As I gazed at the trees that surrounded the clearing I was able to pick out the shapes of buildings. At first glance one could mistake them for unusually shaped trees but, like a lens settling into place, it suddenly came into focus. What had been an unusual growth on the side of pine became a two story house with graceful windows and arched doors.

After that...well one suddenly realized that you were actually surrounded by houses. Each one unique and enhanced so that it blended into the rest of the forest until it was impossible to tell where one tree ended and another began. All of the houses were graceful with balconies, arched windows and tear dropped shaped windows. They seemed impossible architecturally - too light and too unstable but I had no doubt that they were.

Hidden beside many of the houses were little bowers and pavilions were flameless lanterns hung brightly. Those little bowers must be the location of midnight feasts or the gathering of elves for a healthy little debate. Nothing seemed real anymore reader. I felt like I had just stepped into a fairy kingdom and all it needed was a Tinkerbell and Peter Pan to complete it.

The inhabitants of this city eventually revealed themselves as a flicker of movement at the fringe of my sight. The only sign that they were there was the occasional rustle of a pine cone on the ground or a brief snatch of brightly colored fabric as the elf vanished in the shadows. To know that they were following us but being unable to see them made me uncomfortable. So far, this city and its forest only made me feel uneasy and watched.

One by one, the wary elves stepped into view as we continued onwards. Their slanted eyes never left our small party.

It was easy to see, when confronted with so many elves, why they were called the Fair Folk. They were fair indeed with their pale, perfect faces and that faint glow that hung around each and every one of them. They all possessed the same delicate beauty that belied their unbreakable strength and fierce passion. Some had raven hair, some had silver that glinted like polished steel and some were golden haired. Each and every one of them moved so gracefully and with such languid ease that, when combined with everything else, they became all the more unearthly.

Compared to them I felt clumsy and dull. I felt like the new girl at school who knows no one and feels inadequate in every single category when compared to the others. Only, in this situation, I could never forget that I was inferior. I hated the feeling and it made me raise my chin as if defying those perfect beings to pity me for my mortal body and life. Let them find out that I was no child, no weakling that they could scorn. With unconscious ease I slipped in the crown princess and shed the girl called Zoe. Princess Zoe gave me a sense of security because she did not know self-doubt or fear and so I walked forward with new determination.

It was then that the elves bowed from the waist, smiling and laughing with unrestrained happiness as they did so. From within their midst, a woman cried out in song:

Gala O Wydra brunhvitr,

Abr Berundal vandr-fodhr,

Burthro laufsbladar ekar undir,

Eom kona dauthleikr...

The music washed over me like cool water. It was very beautiful but I hardened my heart towards it. Experience had taught me that when music such as this was sung by someone gifted with great power that one should never loose themselves to it. I may have accepted the magic of this forest into myself and grown stronger because of it but that did not mean I wanted this magic to sweep me away.

As we followed Arya along a cobblestone path set with bits of green tourmaline, which lopped among the hollyhocks and the houses and the trees before finally crossing a stream, the song only grew stronger. The elves danced around our little party as we walked to and they seem to flit like birds from one branch to another as they did so. They praised Saphira with names like "Longclaws" and "Daughter of Air and Fire" and "Strong One."

I glanced quickly at Eragon to see how he was taking all of this. The Rider's eyes shone with wonder but he was managing to retain an impassive expression. He had not completely lost himself to the magic and the enchanting beauty of the elves - or at least not yet. I would have to watch him and make sure he kept both feet on the ground. Saphira herself looked very pleased to be complimented so - the dwarves had barely tolerated her but here...here she was a treasure that should be held up to sky and admired by all.

It was then that the path ended. As we paused in front of a net of roots that formed steps, we all settled our minds. Arya moved up the steps first and then I did with Eragon and Saphira taking up the end.

The stairs ended and we stood in front of a door made of gleaming wood upon which was engraved a flowering tree that seemed to both guard and welcome. It had been set within a wall of saplings and there was no handle just smooth wood. As we reached it the door swung open of its own accord, and revealed a hall of trees.

My first impression of this audience chamber, this throne room, was that it seemed as if I had never left the outside world to come inside. The ceiling was made of hundred of branches and vines with bright flowers bursting with color twisted and twined their way up the trunks and across the ceiling. The Hall was filled with light. The floor was stone but it did not feel unnatural here nor did it feel like the way the stone laid by men or dwarves does - this was not cutting out nature but rather part of it. If Ellesmera was a testament to the elves skill with magic then this Hall was the very pinnacle of that achievement.

At the end of the chamber there was twenty four chairs. Twelve chairs to each side of throne of knotted roots.

In those chairs reposed four-and-twenty elf lords and ladies.

These ancient, powerful beings were dressed in robes of shifting colors that were finer than anything one could find in the mortal world. Their faces were wise and unmarked with age though one could see the many years they had lived just by looking at their eyes which swirled with countless years of knowledge of and power.

Now, as we entered, those eyes glinted with barely contained excitement. They leaned forward, gripping the arms of their chairs and staring at us with open wonder and hope. It was then that I noticed the weapons they carried. Swords set with bright gems, gleaming bows etched with silver and the occasional brightly polished spear.

But my attention went to the throne and its occupant. For there, in a dress of crimson girded with braided gold, sat the Queen. She was beautiful, almost painfully so, with midnight hair bound back by a diamond diadem and a proud, almost imperious, face. By her left hand was a curved rod with a chased crosspiece. The brilliant white raven, Blagden, perched on it, shuffling impatiently from foot to foot. He surveyed us with an almost, dare I say it, disappointed air.

Despite her delicate beauty that put every other elf to shame, there was nothing fragile about the Queen. _Like mother, like daughter, _I thought grimly. Her gaze was heavy, I could feel it almost as if it had a physical weight to it. As she gazed down at me, at my companions, I felt that part of me that feared the dark and spiders, quiver and run for cover. The other part of me, the part that stubbornly defiant and schooled by countless years of etiquette, would not let me cower nor would my own pride. So I met that gaze challenging and without reserve.

As we walked forward and stopped in front of that council, Islanzadi stood and descended from the throne. The black cloak she wore, trailed behind her as she stopped before Arya who bowed low as she twisted her hand over her chest.

The Queen seemed hesitant, her hand trembled slightly as, with great care, she placed it on her daughter's narrow shoulders. In a painfully soft voice, she said, "Rise." Arya did and the two stared at the other for a long moment.

I wished I could have offered Arya something but I could not. In this matter she was alone and I could only wait and watch. At last Islanzadi cried out and embraced Arya, saying, "I my daughter, I have wronged you!"

I will admit reader, I had to contain my derisive snort. Wronged her? She had cut her daughter to the core and no desperate apology or plea for forgiveness could erase the pain her rejection had caused Arya.

As I gazed at the Queen and her daughter, I couldn't help but remember my mother. She to had sat upon a throne and sat upon it during difficult times but she had been no Islanzardi. My mother had been beautiful and a powerful enchantress but she had never been imperious. Stern maybe, unforgiving of foolish pranks or acts but never imperious or cold. My mother was the one people went to when they needed a sympathetic but impartial ear. I would have much rather faced her, even if I had been in trouble, than this fairy queen.

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><p>She knew they were coming. The distant song that filtered through into the Hall was merely a confirmation. She had known they were coming when they first entered her kingdom and that, by dragon back, it would take them less than two days to reach her.<p>

Now...now they approached. She could almost see her daughter, walking ahead of the Rider and his dragon, with her face set and her stride purposeful. The time was drawing near for her to confront her daughter and the events that had separated them for nigh on a century.

Queen Islanzadi shifted ever so slightly on her throne. The other Lords and Ladies were silent, sensing that nothing they said or did could ease the situation. She almost wished they were not here - her family matters were not something she wished to be so public...but, like so many times before, she had to sacrifice that because of her responsibilities as Queen.

Now she could sense them at the door, the door was opening and there they were.

Arya was, as she had imagined, first to enter the Hall. Walking forward with her chin held definatly and her shoulders thrown back she looked so like her father that the Queen had force back a choked breathe. Yet, the more she looked at her the more it became obvious: _Her daughter was changed. _The Queen felt it with a sharp pang of grief and sorrow. No longer did those verdant eyes glitter with warmth and joy, no longer did she step upon the ground with light carefree movements nor did she smile when their eyes met.

This was what she had done.

She could linger over the situation for another century - from her anger at Arya's choice, the grief at her husband's death, the brief and cold meetings that followed and her own indescribable sorrow at the news of her daughter's death. The Queen hated that a part of herself was glad that Arya had suffered for her choice - her refusal to listen to her mother - but that part was drowned out by her desire to once again speak and comfort her only child. Evandar would not have wanted this and neither did his queen. But it was her fault...

It took every ounce, every bit of her self discipline and determination not to run to her daughter, sweep her into her arms like she had when Arya was little, kiss her and soothe away all her worries and fears. Her instinct to comfort her child, like any mother would have done, was so strong she could not ignore it. But now, after the way she had betrayed her daughter, there was no way that method would work now.

Forcing her gaze to the others who walked behind her daughter, the Queen caught her first glimpse of the Rider and the sapphire blue dragon. The boy, for he was a boy in age, had a reserved look to him. His eyes, however, betrayed his outward calm as they sparkled with curiosity and wonder. She noted, with distaste, the red sword of Morzan that he carried at his hip. The Queen also noted the ease with which he carried the sword - that he was used to handling it and the bow slung across his back was obvious.

The dragon who towered above him was beautiful. No wonder her people had sung of her as she made her way through the city. Her scales were a brilliant blue, her gaze intelligent and sharp. A glow of warm hope and joy grew within the hardened elven queen. This was why her daughter had left, this was why so many had died and so much had been sacrificed and, now that she saw the dragon hatched and growing, she understood why.

It was then that she saw the girl. A young woman whose cool grey-blue eyes were watching her. As Islanzardi met that gaze she sensed the guarded mind and a hidden power that made her uneasy. Who was she? wondered the queen. She dressed like no mortal woman and her weapons were of such beautiful make and quality that Islanzardi doubted that any mortal smith had made them. Not only that but she held her gaze without flinching or cowering like so many mortals would have done.

However, the mysterious fourth companion would have to wait. So would the Rider and the blue dragon. Her court would have to wait as well. It was time for the Queen to mend a torn relationship and hope, as hard she had ever hoped, that she was not too late.

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><p><em><strong>Hi you guys! Here is another one...we are getting to that exciting bit! :) <strong>_

_**Again: Thank you to my lovely readers and everyone who has reviewed. It is very inspiring to see how many people have read and, hopefully, enjoyed this story! **_


	39. Chapter 39

He wanted to know it was solid. The whole world seemed insubstantial to him, as if it might tear away and reveal something infinitely larger. He was standing in a fantastical room. Beside him was a dragon - an actual dragon! - and a girl from another world. A elven queen and her advisors were in front of them and he was a companion to their princess. And, perhaps strangest of all, he was an honored guest; a light in the darkness, a shining beacon of hope, to them.

Eragon closed his eyes briefly, as if that brief respite would ease the swirling emotions he felt, before opening them again. Glancing quickly to the left he saw Zoe, also kneeling, her face calm, as she gazed steadily at the scene. That calm presence by him steadied the world and he was able to regain his equilibrium without too much difficulty. It was like finding another hand hold just as you began to worry that you would fall down a cliff face you were trying to scale.

"Islanzadi Drottning," said Arya formally.

The Queen took a step back, her face paling as if she had been physically hurt by the simple, formal way in which she was greeted by her only daughter. Suddenly, she did not look so regal to Eragon but vulnerable as if she carried a great pain. In the Ancient Language she repeated her words, "My daughter, I have wronged you." Her words were heartfelt and tinged with desperation. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made...Can you forgive me?"

To Eragon, despite the raw emotion in those words, the Queen's words seemed a poor thing after the things she had forced her daughter to endure. He doubted that any words could come close to capturing everything that Islanzardi or Arya wished to say to each other but the words, probably chosen very carefully beforehand, seemed stilted and inadequate. The setting was too formal as well for such a deeply personal matter.

The gathered Lords and Ladies stirred. Whether from the tension or from amazement, Eragon did not know. He wondered what they thought of the situation between mother and daughter, between queen and princess, and if they were as desperate as the queen seemed to mend this tear.

Arya did not respond for many long minutes, as if wanting her mother to experience a little of what she had endured - cold silence and unspoken anger that had burned under the surface for close to a century.

"You ask me to forgive you? For seventy years where I lived and loved, fought and killed, without ever speaking to you, my mother?" Her voice was soft but each word felt like a hammer blow and they were hard, unbreakably honest words. The truth always stung and this...this was the truth.

Islanzardi drew herself upright but that did not hide the tremor that ran her length. "We, no matter how much we might wish, cannot undo the past. No matter how much I wish I could."

"I cannot forget the things I have done or endured."

"No," said Islanzardi and then, moving forward hesitantly, she took her daughter's hands in her own and held them tightly. "Nor should you. Arya, I say this: Go if you must and renounce me. I lost you once because I held you to close and now...now I ask you to decide for yourself. But if you would not do that then I would be reconciled with you."

Arya just looked at her mother and, it seemed for a terrible moment, that she would not answer, or worse, would reject the offer as venomously as her mother had rejected her. Eragon saw the elf princess hesitate and glance quickly at him, Saphira and Zoe as if hoping they could provide the answer she sought but neither of them seemed to have any idea. Even the ever knowing Zoe seemed to wait, her eyes focused on the pair, with as much anticipation and worry as the rest of them.

Then, with a sigh, Arya lowered her eyes and said, "No Mother. I could not leave." Like a child unsure if she could take something after being told that she could, Islanzardi embraced her daughter again. Arya hesitated slightly but returned the gesture, and smiles broke out among the assembled elves. It was like a wall of ice was shattered and now everyone could breathe a little easier.

The white raven hopped on his perch, cackling out, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore, _Let us never do but to adore._"

Islanzardi sent the raven a dark look as she broke free, "Hush Blagden. Keep your doggrel to yourself."

It was then that the elf queen turned her attention to him and Saphira. She studied him for a long moment as if judging if her first impression had been correct. That pause, while short, was still noticeable and he felt even more self-conscious than before. Inclining her head, "Forgive me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum in the traditional and formal greeting. "Islanzardi Drottning. Atra esterni ono thelduin."

The Queen's eyes glinted with approval as she replied, "Atra du evarinya ono varda."

"Un atra mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," completed Eragon. In his mind he listened to Saphira repeat his greeting to the queen.

When she finished, Islanzardi asked, "Dragon, what is your name?"

_Saphira. _

The Queen smiled and said, "Welcome to our land, Saphira. And yours, Rider?"

He knew the power of his name, in some ways he almost disliked it. For it made him sound so powerful when, in reality, he was still so very weak and untried. Eragon was not a common name, even among the elves who rarely gave such a weighted name to their children. But he had to give it, perhaps fate had wished he carry such a thing even though he would rather have carried an easier one.

"Eragon Shadeslayer," he hesitated as he briefly considered adding that he was the son of Brom but he did not. Brom may have been a respected, much honored person but Eragon was still not used to thinking of him as a father. There had not really been time to incorporate that into his identity yet, despite his pleasure at knowing.

The Queen raised an eyebrow in surprise and her councilors stirred at this news. This surprising and powerful word echoed through the air like a trump card being thrown down on the table to win the game, like the bell of fate tolling distantly.

"You bear a powerful name," said Islanzardi softly, "Rider Eragon." The word, the name, the title, sounded strange on her lips as if it was as heavy as a stone. As if she was announcing the beginning of some end. As if now, after waiting patiently, the true fight was about to begin. "Welcome to Ellesmera. We have waited long for you."

She moved on to Zoe then. Eragon and Saphira watched tensely as the two gazed silently at each other; like a pair of cats sizing the each other up before a fight. Zoe broke the staring match first with a graceful twist of her hand, a polite greeting and all the correct, submissive movements but she still seemed to announce her confidence. She did not look intimidated or nervous but rather relaxed - like she and Islanzardi stood on the same playing field.

The formal greeting finished, Zoe eloquently and, with as few words as was possible, explained that she was acting as an ambassador for the Varden and for Hrothgar. Her words were pretty but formulaic as if they were specifically designed for such a situation. Eragon wondered where she had learned them for they fell from her lips easily as if she had many years if practice saying them.

Then, her dress twirling around her, the beautiful queen returned to her throne. Her gaze fixed on them as she settled back into the carved seat where, with her proud face, she looked like the Queen of not just the ancient forest but the entire universe.

"I assume by your presence here, Eragon, that you have come to seek our assistance in your training. I wish to hear your full story, including how you came by Saphira's egg, and how you met my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of you story Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden, and mayhap you will share a little of your own past, Lady Zoe."

The young Rider cleared his throat as he prepared to narrate the events that had shaped him these last few months. This was not the first time he had explained the twists of fate which had taken him this far, so he had no trouble reiterating them now for the queen. Saphira filled in the gaps were his memory failed and so, through this means, they were able to paint an accurate description of events.

There was one hitch with this straight forward approach: Zoe. He could not exclude her or say she had not been there for them. Not say that it was she who had saved Brom, had led them to Arya and then been there for him with Durza would create a story with too many holes. He could not gloss over such major things without making the Queen demand to know what he was hiding from her and, that she would demand them, he had no doubt. The elves had sacrificed too much for him and Saphira for that and he felt it was also important that the isolated kingdom hear about what was really occurring beyond their magically enhanced border.

Choosing his words with extreme care he and Saphira modified the story of their journey. They downplayed certain things like the Ra'zac's attack outside of Dras'Leona and the rescue from Gil'ead. He hedged around how Zoe had assisted him with Durza and was vague about her relationship to Brom. The Ancient Language would not let them lie but they did not, rather they engaged in creative truth telling where one phrase really meant something else. A "long-time friend' When they finished, Eragon retrieved the scroll entrusted to him by Nasuada and gave it to the Queen. Presenting it to her, safe and sound, was one less responsibility he had to worry about.

She took it and read it before setting it down and sighing. She seemed weary then to the Rider, weary and full of a terrible pain that had forced her to become so chilled. He pitied her in a way.

"I realize," said the Queen with a bitter smile, "the true extent of my folly. Had I kept out contacts with the Varden my suffering would have ended so much earlier." She shook her head, "I shall honor both Nasuada's and Brom's requests for more aid and reestablish it as quickly as is possible. For too long have I sat idly while the Varden take the brunt of the Empire's attacks. I have allowed my own personal feelings to destroy the work of many years. Now we must assist them even more after their victory over the Urgals."

Eragon breathed a sigh of relief though he dared not say anything. The Queen turned her gaze then to Zoe who had stood quietly by Eragon during the telling of his story. "Both you, Lady Zoe, and Eragon-finiarel have explained your presence here. Do either of you have aught to add?"

"No my lady," said Zoe, "I do not beyond royal greetings from both King Horthgar and Nasuada of the Varden."

"I accept their greetings and return them in kind." The two once again seemed to gaze at each other for far longer than was polite for the setting they were in. But then, as she must have wanted to do since they arrived, the Queen turned her heavy gaze to Arya. Her voice was hesitant as she continued, "Now, daughter, what befell you?"

Arya's story was not easy to hear nor was any easier for her to speak it but, with the same dogged determination with which she had survived the challenges she had endured, she did. Her voice, a low monotone, never changed no matter if it was the brutal capture that had killed her companions or the even more horrific abuse she had suffered at the hands of Durza that she spoke of.

Eragon knew, from the emotions he had felt after the battle of Fathen Dur, that it was easier to speak of such things this way for their were no adequate words to describe what it was like. The darkness of a cell, the heat of battle, the smell of death and pain, the knowledge that one was beyond help and that, soon, you would be broken. They transended any attempt to capture them with spoken words that were so easily said and then forgotten. You could not describe the slime covered walls that boxed you in from all sides as if slowly suffocating you in both body and mind. Nothing could capture the raw emotion, the pain and the feeling as one retreated into the very core of their identity - to a more basic state - in an effort to remain somewhat sane as you were stripped of everything that made you a conscious, thinking, feeling living thing. From the battle field to the prison cell some things were shared and this was one.

He saw the reactions of the silent elves as their fair faces hardened into masks of chilled anger that was all the more terrifying because it was so controlled. A single tear rolled down the ivory white skin of the Queen and dropped to the floor below like a drop of ice.

Afterward, an elf lord, his silver robes swinging around him, paced along the mossy sward between the chairs. "I know that I speak for us all, Arya Drottning, when I say that my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology or reparation. Also, we are in your debt, so we thank you. Few of us could have withstood such things for so long."

"Thank you," said Arya simply. Her words spoken in that un-emotional monotone and, if she felt anything to hear his words, she did not show it. It seemed that, for the moment, that Arya was beyond them - lost in her memories and the raw, explosive emotions that accompanied them.

Now Islanzadi spoke, and her voice so clear like a high bell, echoed around the Hall clearly despite the tear tracks that marred her beauty. "Enough. Let us speak of evil things no more this night." A smile, as radiant as a rising sun on a clear morning, grew on her face. "My daughter is returned, a dragon and her Rider have come to us, and it must be celebrated." The ice queen raised her hands and, falling like colorful snowflakes, came thousands upon thousands of flowers. Some were roses and some were lilies and they appeared twenty feet above them and then drifted down, filling the air with their perfume.

Her use of the magic without the benefit of the ancient language did not surprise Eragon too much but knowing how this piece of magic did not lessen his wonder at it. Merely because he knew how she had used her intentions to guide the power did not make this common place.

Looking at Zoe he raised an eyebrow questioningly and raised a hand to the flowers that were falling around them as if to say 'Well? What do you think?' She smiled and laughed silently as she shook her head. Catching a white lilly from the air she held it delicately in one hand before slipping it behind her ear. The white of the flower contrasting sharply with her dark curls and clothing. Smirking at him, as if to say 'They are only flowers!' Zoe turned away.

Looking around Eragon saw the Queen raise an arm and the white raven, Blagden, perched upon it before moving to her left shoulder. The entire assembly bowed as Islanzadi proceeded to the end of the Hall and threw open the door to display hundreds of elves outside. They seemed to be waiting for them and Eragon wondered if they had been there the entire time. It made him feel rather strange to think that all these ancient, powerful beings would be judging him, talking of him and watching him.

Stopping on the edge of the stairs Islanzadi opened her arms in greeting. "My people! Let us break open our finest casks and light the cook-fires, for tonight we celebrate with feast and song!" Her voice carried through the air and many elves burst into cheers before rushing away to do as their queen asked.

"Make sure you do not loose yourself Eragon in the festivities to come," came a quiet voice to his left. Glancing that way he saw Zoe, her face coldly impassive, gazing out at the elves and the Queen.

"I will try," he said in an equally soft voice.

"You will have to do more than try," she said resting a hand on his shoulder. "You cannot forget where we are or why you are here. It is all to easy to forget your purpose and duty in the magic and the laughter."

Her warning, delivered so sincerely, made him glance around at the world around him. A dark feeling uncurled inside him as he remembered all of the warnings he had received from Brom and Arya. Nodding his head to Zoe, he swallowed his new hesitation and rested a hand on Saphira, taking comfort in her steady presence. A shadow of caution, of wariness, seemed to have fallen on this fair world.

Then, moving forward, they followed the Queen as she threaded her way between the trees. During their time indoors the sun had set, plunging the forest into darkness that was broken by the gentle glowing weyr lights placed along the paths and on the outside of houses. Fires, spread throughout the city, sent out their cherry light and, as they passed by open windows or doors, Eragon caught sight of lighted rooms where the inhabitants of this city lived.

They stopped on the crest of a small hill, where a group of elves had placed a long trestle table and chairs. All around them hidden activity made the forest hum like a busy nest of bees. Lights were hung from the branches of the trees surrounding the feast and their light reflected off the glasses and polished silver cutlery.

Soon, far too soon for his liking, he found himself surrounded by elves who, bowing softly and touching their lips with their first and middle fingers, made themselves known at an alarming rate. It was an endless repetition of greetings and formulating polite but simple answers to their questions. The bulk of their conversation was directed to Saphira and, relived to be able to slip from the focus of their attention, he was content to let her speak for he was weary of guarding his words so tightly.

Then, at last, he was able to take his seat and the feast began as the music from a quartet of musicians filled the clearing along with the hum of conversation and the bell like laughter of the elves. Beside him was Zoe, her gaze cool but her presence reassuring even as he conversed with those elves that were near him. A little ways away was the Queen and to her right was Arya, both mother and daughter were quiet, almost to the point of rudeness, as those around them enjoyed themselves. Turning away he returned to his food and the light conversation around him...

* * *

><p>"My lady," said an elf pulling out a chair for me. I was seated near the head of the table, beside Eragon with Saphira behind both of us, Arya was to the right of her mother who sat on an elegantly carved chair at the head of the table. It was clear that I was in a place of honor but I could not help but wonder if I was also placed so close to the Queen so she could watch over me as she made her judgement about whether or not I was trustworthy.<p>

As I took my seat I wondered if I would ever be able to lower my polite mask during this journey. Around the elves it was just easier to never set the crown princess aside and keep her around me like a shield. Elves moved through the world cautiously it seemed, their manners and collected, icy, exteriors were evidence of it. To match them and avoid insulting someone, I had completely slipped into that other part of me who was used to moving through such circles. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that my apparent ease was both shocking and surprising to the gathered elves. It felt a little like pay-back for all the times they had gazed down their thin noses at us little, short-lived humans. See reader - I am proud and I am very stubborn.

A dark haired elf dressed in silvery robes was seated to my right. I recognized him as one of the elven lords who had sat in council with Islanzadi when we arrived. He smiled ever so slightly and gestured at the food that was being brought out, "It shall begin soon."

I smiled a small, polite smile as I dipped my head in agreement. "It shall."

"You act as ambassador for the Varden?" asked the elf. I had the feeling that he was too polite to also say 'and the dwarves?!' but that manners prevented him.

"I am but," I smiled apologetically, "I don't believe I know you my Lord..." my voice trailed off questioningly.

"Forgive me," he said with a smile of his own, "my manners are not what they should be for I know of you and you do not know of me. My name is Dathedr of House Flandring."

"A pleasure then Dathedr of House Flandring," I dipped my head in greeting, smiling slightly. As we had spoken, a quartet of elves bearing musical instruments had arrived. Two had harps of cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes, and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she put to use with a quick, merry little tune. The song was silly, meant to make one laugh and many did, calling out praise to the singer when she finished and the pipe and lutes took her place.

Beside me, Eragon sipped at his glass of water. He had just finished an endless round of introductions and questions with, what seemed at least, every elf in this city and seemed relieved to be able to do something besides repeat that endless introductory phrase.

It was then that the food arrived. No meat - of course - but plenty of other delicacies that I found myself longing to dig into. There were fresh loaves of bread, still steaming from the oven, fresh fruit, vegetables and berries. The stacks of honey-cakes and pies stuffed full with vegetables and spices sent their aromas into the air until it became almost unbearable for me to just sit and wait so quietly. When all those invited were seated, the feast truly began. I never lost myself in the mirth or the talk and I made sure neither Eragon or Saphira did either by limiting their falnirv intake to half a glass.

So,there I was. Sitting away and above the conversation, entering it only to be polite when I had to but, otherwise, I just listened and watched. I watched as the elves laughed and spoke with each other, I watched Islanzrdi staring at her daughter as if afraid Arya would vanish any second and I watched as the hour grew ever later. Occasionally, Daethdr would bring me into a conversation and, when that happened, I treaded with care though I did make a few laugh with my swift and, sometimes, amusing replies to their queries about life in the Empire. A few times I had to lean heavily on what I knew of my own world for I knew little of daily life in Galbatorix's kingdom but I supposed it would be similar to the lives of my own people far away in my own land. There are some things that just don't change from world to world and the elves I spoke with had gone a long time without setting foot on human lands.

It was then, just as I finished my dessert, that Deathdr said in a clear, carrying voice. "Zoe! Surely you will grace us with some music? Something from your home?"Much of the table heard for it was a lull in the conversation and I felt like crawling into a hole as his words caught their attention and made them look at me.

"Sing for us Lady Zoe" cried a golden haired woman. Her blue eyes sparkling as she clapped her hands together. "Sing!" Around her the elves nodded eagerly and smiled as if a song from the human woman would be a welcome thing.

I nearly blushed. Me? Sing? My voice had never been my strongest suite and now, surrounded by the fairest voices in the land of Alagaesia, it was definitely not very good. "I cannot," I said, raising my hands to try and ward off protests. "My voice is..."

"You must," said Daethdr and, before I could protest anymore, I was being handed a delicately carved harp that fit neatly in my arms. Even the small quartet whose music had accompanied us through the dinner, fell silent. I glanced up, everyone was waiting,from Queen Islanzardi at her high chair to Saphira to the various lords and ladies who had been invited to this feast. Suddenly I was out on the middle of a stage and I wished I could turn this light away from me for I did not want, could not have, the attention.

I had never played the harp, or any instrument for that matter, on Earth but I had when I was Princess Zoe. It, along with etiquette, weapons, politics, history and languages had been my daily fare as a child and teenager. Still think your education was jammed packed? Think again reader, my skills have been earned through hard work and persistent tutors.

So now, desperate not to muck this up like the idiot I knew I could be, I put my fingers to the harp gingerly as if afraid it would bite me. I did not know what to play or what to sing - or at least I did not consciously know. What I did next, what I sang and what I played, was just my fingers and my voice remembering what had been ingrained in them but then forgotten. It was another little piece of me fitting back into the jigsaw puzzle that was my identity. A little piece but an important one. A piece of my border that had been part of my childhood and then as I grew-up.

My fingers moved first, calling forward a gentle tune that twirled and danced on the perfumed air. It was sad at points, happy at others and hopeful in between - like life was so often. Then, somehow knowing it was time, my voice joined in with the melody my fingers created. Perhaps the magic in this place, inside of me, was also present in that melody for it was far fairer than anything I could normally have created.

The song I sang that night was a familiar one to me - or at least to the Zoe I was returning to. My mother had first sung it to me and my siblings to put us asleep as little children. Then it became something I might sing around a camp fire with the Rangers I commanded. So, I guess you could say that it was song for many occasions. It could comfort or it could inspire - depending on how one played it.

As the last notes faded away, as my voice fell and my fingers stopped moving I raised my eyes to the gathered crowd. Many were sitting in quiet contemplation with their eyes fixed on something in the distance. Some were looking at me, so many in fact that I felt uncomfortable. My plan to stay out of sight seemed to have failed spectacularly but right then, still filled with tumbling emotion, I did not care like I might have before that song. I was at peace with myself - I'm sure you know the feeling one gets after listening to a song that is just perfectly suited to the moment you are in.

"Well sung Lady Zoe," said Queen Islanzadi as she sat in that throne-like, chair at the head of the table, just a few seats away from me. Her cool eyes found mine and she seemed to be studying me with greater intensity then ever before. She looked away and I passed the harp back to the elf who had given it to me. I felt weariness creeping up on me and I longed to escape and fall into a comfortable bed.

My wish was answered as Islanzadi stood from her chair - causing a flurry of activity as everyone hastened to do likewise - and said, "It is late and I would return to my bower. Accompany me Saphira and Eragon and I will show you where you may sleep tonight." The Queen left the table and I quickly bade Eragon and Saphira a good night's sleep as they followed her away into the shadows.

My attention was turned to Arya who, silently, had come to stand beside me. "Come Zoe," she said putting a hand on my arm. "I will show you to your own room."

"That would be welcome Arya," I said gratefully as I bade farewell to Lord Daethdr and the others who I had shared a few words with that night. With my steps light with eagerness I followed Arya down a side path and towards the place where I would finally be able to loose myself to the twisting strands of dreams.

Off you go! I don't want to tell you about what my room in Tildari Hall looks like or what I dreamed of! Shoo! I'll tell you about that stuff - and more! - when we meet again! Now off you go reader! I am sure your life awaits you wherever you are. Further adventures with yours truly will have to wait until another time when you have accomplished what needs accomplishing and I have taken a well deserved rest in a comfortable bed deep in a forgotten land where magic is just a word away.

* * *

><p>The Queen pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was set high in the branches of an ancient oak not far from Tildari Hall. The little study was not common knowledge among her people and so it had become something a of sanctuary for whoever held the throne.<p>

The room was circular with warm, honey colored walls and a large teardrop shaped window. Bookcases filled with scrolls and neatly stacked bits of paper lined the walls, a large desk with quills and ink just waiting to be used was in the centre and there was two comfortable, well stuffed chairs. All in all, the room was simple but cozy and it contained many a memory for the Queen. Now, late in the night, it was lit by a single weyr light that was placed above the desk.

Walking to the window she gazed out at the trees and let out a shuddering breath. The events of the day, of the past few months, had taken more out of her than she had let those around her know. Now, despite accomplishing what she had longed for, she found herself hurting just as much as she had before she had accomplished it.

Gripping the edge of the window she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

She and Arya could never return to the relationship they had before the egg, before the Varden or even after Evandar's death. She clung to the memory of a sweet faced little elfling but it was nothing more than that, a memory, which, like a favorite book, she had taken out and clung to many a time.

Glancing around the small study she felt as if she was transported to another time. She remembered standing here as Evandar read her the latest message from Vrael. Arya would run in now and Evandar would laugh, set the paper down, and sweep his little darling into his arms and carry her over to Islanzadi. Then she would laugh at her little daughter and stroke the dark hair as she listened to Arya's latest adventure. She might offer comfort or congratulations but, whatever she did, there was no doubt that her daughter trusted her. Back then, her daughter had looked to her father with his bright sword and her mother with her gentle words to provide safety and security. Now it seemed painfully ironic, Arya was protecting them from her to their people, with her own shining sword and all her mother had to offer were venomous words and stilted apologies.

The dagger that went through her heart was a familiar one as was the pain it caused. She knew, from past experience, that it was better to move such thoughts away and try to remain in the present. But coming to this room, to this little sanctuary, seemed to bring the past alive around her no matter how she tried to keep it at bay. For that reason she seldom visited the little hidden study that was high in this ancient tree.

So why, knowing what she did, had she returned to this place? It seemed like a foolish thing to do but she had been doing many foolish things recently. Here she was, standing as she had many times before when the world had still been bright, and yet now she did as a lonely queen who had given her heart and life to the protection of her people.

Forcibly, she turned her thoughts away from such a depressing and brutal things. She thought briefly of the Rider and dragon sleeping in the tree that had once belonged to Vrael. Then, her thoughts fell on the next and most convenient topic: Lady Zoe.

As a rule the elven queen disliked mysteries - had always disliked them - and Zoe was a mystery. Few could hold Queen Islanzadi's gaze and yet the girl did and seem to challenge her while she did it. Her ease with diplomatic decorum, her role in Eragon and Saphira's journey and the very power that swirled around her made Islanzadi wary. What was Brom playing at sending this wild card all the way to her? What had she done to earn the approval of both the dwarves and the Varden? She had already charmed many of her own people that night with her song, her conversation and her quiet manners that were so different from the stereotypical brash, uncouth human.

So, as a Queen has to do sometimes, she would lay her worries aside for now. Arya trusted her and was hiding something about her - had even looked to her as if seeking confirmation when she was speaking of her own ordeals and travels. So for now, not only because Zoe was an ambassador, she would leave the matter be and trust, like she should have done many times before, Arya's judgement.

Looking out at the shadowy trees and the gently glowing weyr lights below, the Queen knew that she had a duty to a certain person. He and his companion would be impatient for news and so she turned away from the window and made her way to the polished mirror that hung between two bookcases. The scrying glass reflected the chamber and she stopped and gazed at herself for a long moment. She did not look any different in many ways, tired yes, but emotionally wrung out? It was hidden for now behind her mask - a good thing for this conversation. The Queen hated feeling or looking weak to him or his companion and now was not the time to allow him to see just how fragile she was.

Whispering the words she watched as the mirror's surface shimmer like light on water. An image, foggy and indistinct but growing clearer by the second, took form on the polished surface of the mirror.

The image showed the inside of a small cottage. The furnishings were simple. A round wooden table, a small bed with neatly folded bed covers and, stored neatly along the walls, were scroll upon scroll upon scroll.

Her eyes however, went to the elf who was sitting at the small table, his arms folded across his arms and his silver hair glinting in the moonlight that filtered in through a window. The most distinctive feature of the elf was his eyes. They were a silvery grey that seemed to pull one into a never ending maze of knowledge and power. If Islanzadi radiated her station as Queen then Oromis, implacable and logical, radiated the watchful look of a fighter.

"Islanzadi," he greeted. They had both, long ago, dispensed with such formalities when they spoke this way. Neither wished to waste time on such things when more important ones waited to be said. In public, or in other less strained times, they may have used them and discussed lighter topics before moving on but not today. Today they had business that needed attending.

"Oromis," she replied quietly as she rested a hand on the edge of the desk as support for her weary body. "They have arrived."

"And?" inquired the ancient Rider. For a second the Queen wondered if that was eagerness in his voice. She held back a smile at the thought - Oromis was never anything less than patient.

"The Rider is young." She said finally and with an attempt at fairness, "but he seems capable and is well spoken. I was..." she sighed irritably at the admission, "impressed by him. I think he will do well."

Oromis sank back against his chair, an expression of relief flitting across his face. "High praise from you," he said with an attempt at levity. She almost wondered, again with a touch of amusement, if he was feeling somewhat giddy.

"Perhaps," said the Queen evenly, "but he will have to earn more praise. I am concerned about his disability. Durza has left him with a heavy burden."

"We shall see," said Oromis. It seemed, that on this night, the Rider wanted to simply enjoy the triumph of another Rider and dragon who he would be able to tutor and guide. She almost wondered what it would be like for him when the pair went off to war. To loose them in battle would devastate both the elf and his great golden dragon. Soon, they would have to send them off, knowing in their hearts of hearts that they had not done half the things they should have for the vibrant blue dragon and her intense little rider.

"And Arya?" The question was asked softly and with a great deal of sympathy but that did not make it any easier. It was like the crack of a sharp whip that word, 'Arya' which conjured so many memories and emotions.

Islanzadi stiffened slightly and had to fight the urge to snap at Oromis. Knowing her temper was all the more volatile after the days events, she choose her words with care. "We have begun anew or as new as one can with over seventy-years of bitterness and anger." Her own anger and bitterness simmered beneath the surface and she knew he sensed it even through the scrying mirror. She could not hope to hide everything from the discerning eyes of the Rider.

"It will take time," said Oromis gently, "for both you and her."

The Queen inclined her head but said nothing. It had seemed, since she had taken the crown, that she had been inadequate and Oromis. So many others, in her opinion, would have been better suited the rigorous duties that came with the crown. However, despite her protests, she had been chosen and she had accepted it with all the grace and determination that she could muster. Since then she had refused to linger on it or wish that she still had Evandar beside her.

Wanting to swiftly turn the conversation away from Arya or her own miserable, thrice cursed choices, Islanzadi nodded her head and said, "There is another."

Oromis raised an eyebrow, "Who?"

"A young woman who has been sent as both an ambassador for the Varden and the dwarves. Her name is Zoe." Islanzadi met the other elf's gaze, "She has journeyed with Brom and Eragon for many miles as well as fought in Farthen Dur. A most capable and skilled young woman if today was any evidence."

The Rider was silent for a long moment, judging the Queen's words carefully as he formulated his own opinion."You mistrust her," said Oromis. The Rider steepled his hands in front of him. A familiar habit of his when he was in deep thought or listening with especial care.

"No," said the Queen as she struggled to find the words to describe what she truly felt. "I am merely wary of her. She is more than she seems and has played a far larger role than either Eragon or Arya have admitted to. Brom trusts her and so does my daughter. So I cannot truly hold anything against her. I merely wish I understood..." Islanzadi trailed off. She knew that Oromis understood her meaning and so, unable to truly articulate her feelings, she allowed her voice to fade.

"Do you wish me to meet with her?"

Islanzadi breathed a sigh of relief; gratitude that the Rider had read her thoughts and suggested it himself warmed her. She knew that he would have little time to spare now and had not wanted to take him away from the important task of Eragon's training. Too much rested on that training for her to trouble him with such a matter.

"I thought you, Arya, Gleadr and I should meet with her." Islanzadi met the cool, collected eyes of the Rider, "We shall meet tomorrow I assume?" Her voice trailed off in a question.

"Yes," said Oromis with a short nod. "In the morning and then once again when I am finished with Eragon and Saphira."

"Give my best to Gleadr," said Islanzardi as she moved forward to end the spell but, before she did, she smiled the first warm, unguarded, joyful smile she had smiled in a long time, "And may the stars watch over you." She did not know why she returned to that phrase or why she did it in that order or why she smiled without any reserve or thought. Perhaps she wished the Rider to know that she valued his honest friendship far more than she had expressed to him or maybe she wanted to wish him well. He was setting out on the final leg of his journey and she knew that this, this final task, would be the end and, when it was complete, neither he or Gleadr would have a reason to remain. Or, she wondered, was it both? It was and she hoped with all her heart that Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales would be everything that Oromis along with Gleadr had waited so long for. She hoped that this dreadful darkness would lift and that they, for they were wounded far more deeply than she, could finally find the peace which would elude them until then.

But, perhaps most surprising of all, she hoped that Oromis knew. That he knew what his support, his challenging questions, his very presence had been far more critical to her than she had ever allowed him to know. It felt as if she had a debt to pay to the ancient Rider before it was too late, before the end that was coming and would have to come if this darkness was to lift.

Oromis smiled ever so slightly and inclined his head in acknowledgment. He knew and his silence confirmed that he knew and had known for a long time everything she had wanted him to know in that phrase. It was simple, no lengthy words or gestures, but all the more powerful because of it. It seemed to the queen that, once it was done that she felt a sense of peace. Now, not matter the future, she knew that the rider knew how deep her gratitude and respect for him was. She could watch him, watch them both really, go now without the guilt of one who has not said what needed to be said. A guilt that had chased her when Arya had turned away, that had chased every person in every world who has not spoken what they really wanted to say when it matters.

Holding back the tears that threatened to spill, she flicked her hand across the mirror, returning the scrying mirror to its previous, polished state where it was just another looking glass hung in a decorative golden frame. She saw her reflection, saw both her perfections and her flaws clearly. Past and present seemed to mix in that mirror the longer she gazed into its perfect reflection of the long forgotten and unused study. She saw what had been and what would have to come. The fates of an azure dragon and her rider, the hard eyes of her daughter, the courage of men when their home is threatened, the Oromis and his golden dragon waiting on a sun drenched cliff, a forest kingdom where her people lingered under the shadowy trees. She saw a once fair citadel where a dark, black magic had spread out over it like a poisonous gas and, at last, the fleeting image of a girl with dark hair and watchful grey-blue eyes.

Looking back to the window she wondered, not for the last time, what fate wanted with her and her family. Oromis was right, as usual, it would take time. But they had decades, centuries, millennia to make it right and surely...surely that would be long enough? Long enough to mend a broken relationship, long enough to save a world, long enough to mend the wounds created in a single wild fall from power and peace? Long enough to save what had to be saved? She sensed that there was more at stake here. It seemed to her, alone in that room, that the entire world was holding its breath that soon, too soon, the fate of more than just Alagaesia would be decided. A sudden feeling of doom, of overwhelming fear, made the Queen's heart clench tightly.

She looked back to the mirror. An image danced there, a girl standing in a guest room of Tildari Hall. Her hair was braided back and her clothes were travel worn. She was leaning on the window looking out at a quiet garden. Her face was softly illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, her gaze calm as she looked out at the tranquil little courtyard. Zoe.

The image flickered and vanished. The Queen looked away. The air was still, hot with summer warmth, but she was chilled. She did not know what was coming, did not know to which side the dice would fall, but she was a Queen. A Queen. The title reverberated through her like a drum in the darkness. Evandar was gone but Arya was here. Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales were here now and so was a girl who seemed to balance the scales in a new, uncounted direction. No, she was not afraid any longer, once maybe she would have been but now, now she was ready. Her heartbeat slowed and steadied as she drew herself up as only a true queen can. What is done is done, what is to come is to come, she had made her peace with that.

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><p><strong>You made it! I know that was a marathon of a chapter but I hope it was ok! ;) I was on an airplane when I wrote the rough version and I seriously just kept writing and writing...it took me a while to post because all my spare time is taken up by homework but I did it! :) <strong>

**Here on some replies to some reviews I've received...**

**14athomas : I wanted to include a Murtagh POV but I felt this chapter was long enough. So, look for Murtagh very soon! He is going to have his own little adventures while in Surda - poor Brom! Thank you for the review and, please!, keep reading! **

**lamthe42: Thank you for your review! :) I am sorry about that...I hope this chapter is better for that. I am so glad you like Zoe's rambles - I like writing them! As for Arya, I think I would like to explore her **_character a little more. It seemed that in the original series we had a lot of 'perfect Arya' because of Eragon. Big thank you for the review and I hope you like this chapter! _****

**_SiPhoenix: I never actually thought of that but now that you mention it I think that is a very cool idea...I will see about incorporating Runon into this story in that way...Thank you for the idea and the review! :)_**

**_Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and liked this story! I write it for the fun of it and it is fantastic to hear back from you guys! Off I go to homework and a certain chapter that needs planning... _**


	40. A New Start

So you are back - I really shouldn't be surprised. You always seem to come back at the right time. I really don't know how you do it. I have a hard time organizing myself but you, you always seem to come prepared and ready for whatever is to come. It is impressive.

Anyways, I did promise to tell you some things didn't I? I suppose we should move forward, time waits for no one least of all me or you. We are so insignificant in the great workings of things. I suppose that gives me hope in a funny way. I keep hoping that if I fail than things will sort themselves out given enough time. Perhaps it is silly to think like that but I do; it makes things seem a little easier when I become completely overwhelmed by my responsibilities. Do you think like that? Do you cast the last of your hopes on the faint idea that time will heal all wounds no matter how deep?

War is a funny thing reader. I do not know how you feel about it or what it is like in your world and you can't tell that to me because of our communication issues. However, I do wonder what my world or Earth or Alagaesia would be like without war in it. Maybe that is why everyone wants the Rider's back - imagine planning a resistance knowing that there were a couple fire-breathing dragons and their sword wielding Riders about to come down on you. Then again, I suppose that is what I am doing right now - what the Varden is doing. We are planning a resistance against a King, who happens to be a Rider, and has an army of thousands. This topic is freaking me out - I think I'm getting ahead of myself. That fight is still looming on the horizon not already here and I would rather enjoy the quiet peace of this forest.

Alright, we should go for going is better than lingering here in this place that is neither here nor there. Dawn is already here and with dawn comes day and with day comes some pretty exciting things. Well I don't think of them as exciting, I dread them, but from the look on your face you find it quite exciting to imagine me getting chewed out by a couple of older-than-dirt-elves. So with the fates of trillions hang in the balance, it might be.

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><p>I stretched and opened my eyes, feeling for the first time in a long time, completely well rested. Even in Farthen Dur I had not felt this way for obvious reasons - a major battle, some major changes to the pattern of fate and a few other minor details - had made for a nerve racking stay. So had the various turbulent things that had occurred in my own private life - from the quickly developing relationship with a certain boy (stop smirking!) to my own returning memories to the strange woman to the little black rock that I carried everywhere in a hidden pocket to...ah the list goes on and on. My life has been a roller coaster and that wasn't about to stop or slow down any time soon. In fact the moment I woke everything came crashing back down on me and I sunk farther into the soft mattress and pillows. As I lay I there my thoughts turned to the dream which had found me that night. The image and the coldness of it came back to me just as clearly as it had when I was asleep.<p>

_I was back in a forgotten memory. A dream...or not a dream for it had happened. For I was standing in a deserted council room at the head of the rectangular table that was stacked with maps and paperwork. My weapons were slung over the chair and I was wearing dirty, blood stained rangering clothes. Torches were burning low in their brackets and, through the floor to ceiling windows at the end of the room, I could see the stars glinting high in the heavens. _

_Standing at the end of the table was Eomund. He raised his head to look at me, his dark hair falling away from his pale, weary face. Softly he said, "The simplest way to end a war is to admit you have lost it." _

_I wanted to say something idealistic and naive. I wanted to remind him that hope is never lost, that admitting defeat meant sacrificing hundreds of thousands to the darkness that none could escape. I wanted to say that now was not the time for such defeatist thoughts. Those thoughts would not bring men back from the shallow battle field graves they had been laid to rest in. It would not help heal the gaping wounds of war - it would not fix anything at all. _

_We had survived a civil war that had killed our father but seen our brother safely to the throne and that had ended the bitter rivalries between the minor kings and lords that had pitted one side against another and nearly torn the land apart. Our country was united and inching its way back from the cliff it had so nearly gone over. _

_Now the ancient darkness that had long waited in the North prepared to strike while we were so weak and destroyed. An evil power was awakening and beginning to put in action its plan for conquering us and the land we had defended for generations. _

_I wished that those words could help. I wanted them to because I wanted my brothers, my sister, my people and my own heart to believe it. But that was not enough. It was never enough. Words are only words and they are not enough. Even magical words spoken with the power of a daughter of Llyr are not enough. Nothing was enough to save us and turn this hopeless into strength and the fear to courage. _

_My restless energy carried me forward to the windows. They had been designed to allow as much natural light as possible inside - a common theme in the palace. Balconies, windows, arches, skylights and high ceilings gave the place a light and airy feel not common in most castles, but now, in the dead of night, the room was only letting more of that evil darkness inside my home. A home that I was tied to and nearly died multiple times to protect. _

_"Then what can we do," I asked. "I do not know anymore Eomund." My hand closed around a rough little stone in my pocket. I drew out the little black rock with its flecks of silver and white. The stone had been a small bit of a falling asteroid that had crashed through the atmosphere and been blasted to bits. In my world these little bits of falling stone had a power to them - a light. In the dream I remembered how it came to me and for what purpose. It was something I had been given as a young girl to drive away the dark nightmares that used to send me screaming to my parents in the middle of the night. You could call it a night-light and I had used it many more places than just my bedroom. It had lit my path as I moved through the world and it would light the way once more. _

_I gazed at the little stone, nestled in my bloodstained and dirt covered hand with its chipped nails, callouses and faint scars, I admitted defeat. I did not know what do anymore. No clever ambushes or decisive military moves would ensure us the victory this time. _

_I wanted light, something other than this darkness that was slowly choking the life from my world. So, without thinking, I called on the magic in the stone. It's white and silver flecks grew brighter and brighter until I could not look at because of the brightness. It was easy to summon the light for it required no incantations or a great deal of energy - you just had to want it and call for it with your own power. _

_I turned and met my brother's gaze. The light coming from the little stone was not faint like the torches - this was real light which blazed through the blackness like a beacon. It sent the shadows crawling back as it illuminated the room. I felt the power, my magic and my determination, reawaken at the sight of light. I tightened my grip around the little stone until the rough edges cut into my palms and its slight warmth began to creep through my chilled body. Eomund met my gaze, his own grey-blue eyes questioning. I opened my mouth to speak..._

I had woken before I could say whatever I had to say or even hear my brother's response. I had awoken feeling depressed and homesick - I wanted all my memories back from the good ones to the bad ones. I wanted to be back home with my siblings and I wished I had never been given this responsibility. Surely there were thousands of others who wanted a journey, an adventure, like this! They should have had been given a crack at this madness while I stayed in my own little world. I could see it now: an eager teenager who longed for a magical adventure like the ones in books setting out to save not one, but multiple, worlds. They would learn the things that one learned on such adventures but, in my opinion, better them than me.

Forcing my mind away from the dream and my other, rather pointless, thoughts that sound an awful like whining to you my poor reader, I glanced around the room from my position on the bed.

The elves had gifted me with a beautiful, spacious collection of three rooms. One of these rooms was this bedroom with tear drop shaped windows that provided not only a look out over a private garden but window seats where I could imagine spending many long hours reading or writing. The bed was large and had cream colored sheets with gold edging. A plush soft blue carpet covered the smooth wooden floor and there was a floor length mirror beside the tall, but, empty wardrobe. Bookcases lined the walls and there was a white, almost fragile looking, writing desk with waiting paper, quills and ink. Someone had taken my bag from Saphira at some point and I found it on the small bench at the end of the bed. There was something about the room that told me it had been designed with humans in mind. Just a spidey-sense that made me suspect it had been set aside for those visiting ambassadors or dignitaries before the Fall.

There was a connected bathroom with a large, circular tub that, wonders of wonders, had a plumbing system that provided hot and cold water just like on Earth. I suspected that there was some magic involved in the process for I doubted the elves had placed pipes in the walls created using living plants - it did not seem very fair to the trees. The floor in the bathroom was the same smooth wood as my bedroom.

The largest room of the suite was the one that one entered to reach the other two rooms. It had a circular table with chairs, more bookcases and plush chairs for lounging around. It also had a view over the small but peaceful garden that my bedroom overlooked. This was the place where one could both entertain or remain alone and I felt rather spoiled after living rough in the wild and then sharing Arya's apartments in Farthen Dur. I did suspect that there were other ways of entering these rooms than that rather large door but I had not spent any time looking for them. I would soon, if only as a precaution against overcurious elven ears.

Groaning I pushed myself up and left the warmth of the bed. After a quick bath I drew out the clothes I had not bothered to unpack the previous night when Arya showed me to these chambers. I could have chosen the beautiful garments given to me by Arya back in Farthen Dur but I choose not to. It just felt wrong to wear them here when the previous owner, Glenwing, would never return to those who missed him in this city. Instead I slipped on my worn, but comfortably familiar, dark clothes. Sticking with my traditional hair style, I braided the dark locks back and stopped for a moment in front of that mirror to ensure that I was as presentable as I could make myself.

Leaving the room I found a tray of food had been left for me on the honey colored round table. Beside the tray of oatmeal with fresh berries and steaming tea, there was a small note. Written in flowing cursive the note said:

Lady Zoe, I am Rina of House Tildrian and have been assigned to see to your needs. Should you require anything please send for me.

The note was signed off with the traditional greeting/farewell phrase and a signature.

It had been a long time since I had a chamber maid or anybody to ensure that my every need was met. In the past my maid had been a good friend who had known me since birth; her name, if I recalled correctly, had been Elena. Her cheerfulness and skill had eased many of the trials that accompanied my position from arranging my clothes, to informing me of important going's on to merely being a good friend. I missed her and the ease of our relationship that was more like a favorite aunt with her niece then a princess and her servant. It had been Elena who had kept me from making too many mistakes as I learned the ropes of my position and who offered relief when the stiff manners and constant watching of court became unbearable to my freedom loving ways. I had been a rebel, like my younger brother and sister, when it came to toeing the line set by court. Our antics had given our poor parents more than a few grey hairs and caused no small amount of gossip among those disapproving fan-holding ladies with their high-born manners and ways.

Setting the note aside I ate the delicious breakfast eagerly. I enjoyed the light food favored by the elves especially when compared to the heavy fare of the dwarves or humans. This was much more my speed with fresh berries and a hot cup of tea to finish it off with. Oh continue to laugh dear reader! I really couldn't care what you think about my eating habits! What I decide to include in this story is my choice - if you want more say than you should say something!

I neatly stacked the dishes and waited, unsure of what to do, for a few minutes. My uncomfortable, nervous wait was broken by a soft knock at door. Rising I opened it to reveal Arya. The elf was dressed as she usually was in a tunic and breeches though these were fine and not travel worn or stained with the marks of battle. I sensed that her tension, while lessened since yesterday, was still there. Something that was confirmed by her strained smile and words.

"Zoe. How do you fare?"

I smiled and embraced her as a friend would. "I am well Arya and you?"

We broke apart and Arya's grim look faded slightly as she smiled a genuine smile this time. "As well as I can be."

The hidden meaning was not lost on me so I moved on to another topic. "I assume you have been sent to fetch me?"

"Yes," she said with a nod and then she lowered her voice to a soft whisper. "I assume you know why?" I said nothing in reply but my silence was all she needed to understand. Arya knew better then to seek confirmation through words especially when words are so easy overheard and spoken to others. "Then," said the elf, "we should go. My mother does not like to be kept waiting."

"I am sure she does not," I said with a small smile.

I followed Arya through the hall ways and stairs that made up Tildari Hall. Like the great hall where Islanzadi held her throne, this building was crafted from the living forest. Trees had been grown together and they were intermixed with delicate arches, spiraling stairs, spacious balconies, graceful columns, delicate carvings and stone work. I could bore you with all the descriptions in the world but this one moment where you really have to see to understand. One never seemed to leave the forest and yet you were inside - it was a strange, magical feeling that sent shivers up my spine as Arya led me through these halls created from living plants. The path that Arya led me on was so twisting and took us through so many corridors and down so many staircases that I doubted I would ever be able to repeat it. Tildari Hall was far larger than I had originally thought and it was impossible for me to memorize the path back to my rooms.

Perhaps it was the beauty of the palace that made my thoughts turn to what Murtagh had told me of the once fair city where Galbatorix now held court. But my thoughts did not linger long on what Murtagh had shared of that dark city with its black king but, rather and most embarrassingly, on Murtagh. I could not help but wonder where he was. Was he even now moving under the mountains toward Surda with the Varden? I ruthlessly forced those complicated thoughts with their even more complex emotional baggage away. My thoughts could not be clouded this day with pointless questions and feelings. No, today of all days I had to be on the ball. My every word, my every action had to be calculated and then executed with precision. I had no time for such foolishness - far from it. For today, this day, I had to be every inch the crown princess of Angard and Llyr. Murtagh, as much as I might like him, could not have a place in my thoughts.

We met up with the Queen and her retinue in front of the palace. Greetings were exchanged - stiffly formal and respectful ones - and I secretly admired the clothes chosen by Islanzadi. A cloak created from swan feathers and a dress made from some shimmering white fabric that was so pristine I absently wondered if it had a protective charm laid on it to protect it from, horrors of horrors, the dangers of dirt. If there was a spell for that then I made need to make use of it for my next journey.

Walking beside Arya, I moved through the forest city. I walked behind the queen but in front of many of her various advisors, ladies and lords. In my simple, travel worn clothes I felt out of place among these finely dressed elves who could have made a flour sack look like the latest fashion trend. I found a little comfort in that my weapons, with their tooling and deadly grace, were just as fine, if not finer, then the few weapons the elf lords in our small party carried with them. Not only that but my own weapons had seen more than a few battles either with me or the ones who had carried them before and there is pride in surviving such a thing.

Our walk was not long. We stopped in front of a tall tree where, from the design of the building created high in it's branches, was where Eragon and Saphira were lodged. A staircase wound its way around the stout trunk of the ancient tree and I thought I saw the tip of Saphira's snaky tail hanging out the tear drop shaped opening where a dragon could easily land and slip through to the chambers that were created inside the trunk.

Luckily, for I doubt Islanzadi would have been able to wait any longer than two minutes, neither Eragon nor Saphira kept us waiting for any length of time at the base of their tree house.

Saphira, her scales glittering in the early dawn light, launched her large body out of the tree house and circled around the tree once before landing with as much grace as a growing dragon the size of a small cottage can manage. Which, considering her size and shape, is quite a bit of grace reader. In the sky she was magnificent but on the ground it was hard not to think of her as a giant lizard - something you are not allowed to say to her lest you want me crispy fried.

Another round of greetings were exchanged between Saphira, Eragon, the Queen and then Arya who softened the formality only slightly with a small but tense smile. Eragon nodded to me and, as we began to walk again, I whispered, "How are you?"

"Well," said the Rider. He was too was tense, no doubt wondering what awaited him and Saphira at the end of this particular walk.

I turned and smiled at Saphira who blinked one of her great blue eyes. _And you Saphira? _I asked.

_I am well Zoe, _said Saphira. Even the blue dragon was nervous - something I had rarely seen in her. She was, like dragons usually are, unaffected by many things that cause no end of stress for us little round or pointy eared beings. That is why it is so nice to have a dragon to talk to - I highly recommend them for deep and meaningful chats because, if you get too ridiculous, they can remind you of how short your life is with a snap of those jaws or a bit of dragon fire.

But there we were reader. Every last one of us, from the Queen to the finely dressed lords and ladies, were as tense as a drawn bow just waiting to fire. Our winding course through the city took us to the very edge of Ellesmera. Here the buildings were few and the paths were faint with disuse. It was here that I felt a little more at ease for the magic that hung so thickly around the city eased here and the imperfections that were nature returned. Trees were no longer gracefully knarled (if that is possible!), plants no longer shimmered with health and animals were more wary of us. We were coming back to the wild - a place where I at least felt more at home. In the wild I knew the rules but in the strangely domesticated wild that was the elven city I was lost.

Finally we stopped or rather we stopped a respectful distance from the queen. For at the base of a wooded knoll, Islanzadi stopped and turned to look at all of us. Her eyes lingered on Arya, then on Eragon and Saphira but they rested, for the longest, on me. When she spoke her words cut through the silence like a knife, "Before we continue, the three of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne."

It was a heavy request regardless of my foresight. I was loathe to swear anything to this queen no matter how much respect I felt for her. The reason? Well reader, I am someone who likes to remain free of all oaths and promises that are demanded of me just in case they interfere with my own goals. On the other hand I knew I had to for reasons I know you also understand. Eragon glanced at me, his gaze questioning and I hoped that Islanzadi read that quick look as merely one friend looking to another for support not as someone wanting answers.

I nodded my head, hoping that my face was as composed as I wanted it to be and that, for those looking at me, I appeared calm and willing instead of reluctant and untrusting. Islanzadi sent me another calculating look which I met with my own calm one and then, following the words she gave me, I spoke the oath. Eragon, looking equally reluctant, followed me as did Saphira.

"Thank you," said Islanzadi when we finished. "Now we may proceed."

I'll admit reader my heart fluttered a little as we moved up the knoll to the top. The sunlight hit me with all its force as we stepped from the trees onto a bed of red clover. The edge of a cliff ran in either direction and, a thousand feet below, the forest continued. I smiled ever so slightly, this place was beautiful. It almost felt like you were standing on the edge of the world. It was symbolic - so symbolic it made me want to laugh at how dramatic the entire thing was whether by design or accident. For, when Eragon and Saphira launched themselves off it after Oromis, they would be leaving everything behind that they had once been and known. For to go with the golden dragon and rider they had to enter a new 'world' and we could not follow for we did not have wings and a destiny like they did. The cliff was like that barrier and Saphira was the only one who could breech it. We would be left behind as they took to the skies.

I was nervous standing here dear reader. So incredibly nervous for my own sorry life, for Eragon, for Saphira, for Arya, for the elves, for Alagaesia and for my own home. I had been nervous before but not like this. For in this moment I knew that I, out of all the people here, was the only one who knew what was coming. They did not know the end that awaited the glorious golden dragon and his noble rider. They did not know that Islanzadi would die. The fate of Eragon and Saphira was a mystery to them just as Murtagh's fate and the red dragon egg to be called did not know what I was, who I was, what I had done or why. In this moment I felt alone, terribly alone, for I was the only one who knew what would really happen in Galbatorix won. I struggled to maintain my mask like composure - now was not the time for my emotions to win. I could not even tell you reader why I felt this way but I did. Perhaps the cliff was also symbolic for me. Maybe it was trying to show me the limit of what I could do and how close we were to the edge of failing - that one little step in the wrong direction could mean the end. I do not know.

_Thud. _The air reverberated with the force of that concussion. I closed my eyes and wished, with all my heart, that whatever awaited us from this moment onward would work out.

_Thud. _The air pressure spiked. The elves stood motionless behind us. I stood still and waited for something that had lingered here for decades out of sight and forgotten by the world beyond this ancient forest. My heart beat sped up in anticipation for what I was about to see - a relic from a golden age where peace had been a constant and war was a forgotten memory.

_Thud. _Then, from below the edge of the cliff, rose a golden dragon with a Rider on its back. I could not help it - I laughed. I laughed at the sight of a sparkling gold dragon with his silver haired Rider for it was beautiful and majestic. I laughed because that, despite everything, I had brought Eragon and Saphira to this point. I laughed because I had wanted to see this scene since I had first opened the story so long ago in a far distant world and, of all the things to happen, here I was.

My laughter was short but it was true and I doubted anyone could hear it amid the thunderous thumps of Gleadr's wings. Perhaps I was losing my mind but, if that happens, I doubt that is what is occurring right now.

I raised my head so I could watch, nearly blinded by the reflective light, as the dragon began to land. The sight was so heart stopping that I did not look either right or left to see what the reactions of Eragon or Saphira might be to this wonder. I could imagine them though : wide-eyes, hope, amazement, shocked, relief, awe, boundless joy and a little anger to think that this had been what was waiting for them all along. I winced inwardly at that thought, for I had withheld this from them as had Brom and Arya.

I did see Glaedr's terrible injury; the stump of the ancient dragon's leg was a hard thing to miss but it was not tragic to me. I had seen battle scars from small to large and I knew that there was a certain amount of pride in having one. Gleadr and Oromis had survived, scarred and barely alive it was true, but that was more than most had accomplished during the Fall. Let them carry those marks with pride not sorrow.

The dragon settled to the ground. As he did he buffeted us with strong gusts of air and made the very ground shake from the impact. Then, in a movement so swift and graceful only an elf could have done it, the figure dressed in white descended from his companion of heart and soul. There he was. Oromis. The last of the old Riders was in front of me and it was lucky that the princess inside of me was not intimidated by this or else I would have been staring like a little girl.

I glanced briefly at Eragon who was looking remarkably composed for someone who has just been given the shock of their life. He was standing very still, his eyes betraying his relief and awe but otherwise he was quite composed. Perhaps all those lessons from Brom on handling himself had actually stuck - how amazing. Behind him was Saphira who was crouched tensely on the ground gazing with a look of wild joy in her deep blue eyes as she looked at the golden dragon.

Oromis looked to Eragon first and the young Rider inclined his head in respect. Speaking slowly and with perfect pronunciation, Eragon gave the formal greeting with all the solemnity that the situation required. Oromis smiled widely and responded. His voice was soft but I had no trouble hearing it - it seemed to carry through the still air in a way that was perfectly clear.

"Welcome Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales. We have waited long for you." His words were familiar phrase these days and they were spoken in a low voice with the same flowing accents that all elves had from their use of the Ancient Language. The sound of his voice was almost soothing and it had its own kind of unique rhythm that one does not find in mortal words.

The Rider transferred his gaze from Eragon to the Queen. The two greeted each other as two long time friends and allies might though not without a hint of anger and resentment from Islanzardi. The Queen was no doubt still sore over Oromis's role in Arya's disappearance - the Rider had not informed her of that whole thing and I could understand the Queen's anger both with Oromis and her own choices. I also suspected that there was a bit of a love/hate relationship between her and the Rider but I was not certain of that.

It was then that Oromis looked towards me. I was standing a little ways from Eragon and I felt the force of both the Rider and the dragon as they gazed at me as if it had a physical touch.

I met the Ancient Rider's old, wise, kind, piercing eyes with my own though it was the hardest thing I have done in a long, long time. Those eyes caught my gaze and did not let go; trapping me in their silver depths. I felt the power, dimmed maybe from where it had been long ago, but still so strong that I was grateful for my own barriers which shielded me from the full brunt of it. I could feel the power that floated around him, see it in his silver eyes and the way he held himself. When I looked at Oromis, I felt as if he stripped me of every single disguise I had created for myself. In that blinding moment I knew that there was no chance I could hide the truth of my heritage from this elf. He would know I was more than a little girl - he would see the power that was slowly awakening inside of me after being shut away for so long and he would see that I knew far too much. One cannot hide the strength and confidence that comes with experience and I was far more experienced than someone of my age and race should be. I was not of this world and, to someone as observant as this Rider, it was clear that I was different from any human here or any human anywhere in this land of Alagaesia. The answer for him may not be obvious but he would know that there was something more there.

His gaze did not leave mine and for a few fleeting tenths of a second he turned the full force of his mind onto me - a force that was a strange mix of elf and dragon. For Gleadr had also turned his own attention to me and the force of those combined powers was almost unbearable. Then Oromis and the great golden dragon turned away and I was barely aware of the farewell he gave to the Queen or Eragon's own excited grin that he flashed my way as he mounted Saphira.

No. My thoughts were turned faraway - they were focused on brief exchange between me and the Morning Sage. The words, spoken in the Ancient Language, echoed through my mind: _Who are you? _

_Zoe. _

I forced my thoughts to the present. I forced myself back to the world I occupied with my living body. In those few seconds I knew that it would take more than formulaic phrases and manners to protect the knowledge I carried from the ancient Rider and dragon. It would take all the determination, all the logical reasoning and every bit of my strength to ensure the continued protection of my own burden.

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><p>She had never been so happy. Her happiness was such a beautiful thing that he longed to keep her this way. Her joy made the whole world brighter. She had been so sad, he realized, since that cold winter day in a isolated mountain valley where she had hatched and found that she was the last of her kind. He had never realized just how lonely she was until now when that burden was lifted. Until this moment when realized she was not alone in a world that had forgotten the glory of her kind.<p>

How did he feel? That was a difficult thing to describe. For one thing he was too stunned to really take it all in. He knew he was relieved and that the heavy burden he had carried since he realized the scope of the situation was lighter than it had ever been. It felt like a light had suddenly had appeared in front of him as he wandered down a dark tunnel from which he knew not how to leave. Now he could share that burden and, better yet, he could look to another who was far wiser and far more powerful for advice and support. In a way he was no longer lonely - like his dragon - for he, Eragon Shadeslayer, was the last of the Riders and, if that was not a heavy responsibility, then he was not sure what was. However, with this remnant of ancient glory flying in front of him, he was no longer alone in a cold world that expected so much of the pair of them.

Eragon raised his head and looked at the blue sky in an effort to control the turbulent emotions and questions that had been raised by this shocking revelation. The sky was a bright blue and perfectly clear without a single cloud in sight. He could see the forest stretching out around them for hundred of miles. A few deep breathes helped steady him as did reducing his connection to Saphira in an effort to prevent her infectious joy from completely destroying any control he had. He may have been happy for her and for himself but he did not want to loose his head in the tempest of emotions she was sending her way.

_Eragon! Another dragon!_ Came Saphira's joyful mental bellow as she soared along behind the golden bulk of Gleadr. It surprised him that she was able to speak when she seemed so lost among her emotions.

_Yes_, he said with a warm smile and a gentle pat on her neck. _It is wonderful. _He was riding her without a saddle and, while he knew she would not let him fall, he was not certain she would remember that he was far more vulnerable the he usually was when she did one her her aerial twists which, in her joy, she was likely to do. Thus Eragon had to concentrate fiercely on staying on and not being pitched off her side - something he was sure would make his new teachers wonder at the idiot they had just been sent.

_I never expected to meet another dragon except for Shruikan. Maybe rescue an egg but never, not even in my wildest dreams, did I imagine this!_

_Zoe knew._ reminded Eragon. It was strange to him to think of Zoe knew the most treasured secret of the elves. It was not a secret to her. No wonder she had wanted him off to Du Weldenvarden as quickly as was possible given the circumstances. Brom must also know for his father and mentor was a close friend of the elves and, of course, he would have known the Morning Sage and his companion from his days as a Rider. Yet, once again, his father had chosen to remain silent though, Eragon suspected, it was because he was bound my old promises.

_Yes,_ said Saphira, _but Zoe would have told us if she felt we needed to know._

_I know. _said the young Rider but he was faintly troubled, not by Zoe's silence, but that this ancient pair had never dared to confront Galbatorix. He knew that there would be very sound and logical reasons for this and he suspected that it had something to do with past injuries, Glaedr's being the most obvious, but he wished to know those reasons. The Rider would not be known as The-Cripple-Who-Is-Whole for nothing and if it was an injury that elves could not heal then it would be debilitating indeed.

The dragons flew along the cliff face For several miles until they came to another clearing beside the cliff face. A cottage, grown from four towering pines, was situated on the edge of the small clearing. A quick flowing stream ran beside the cottage and then tumbled off the edge of the cliff in a gleaming waterfall. It was the place from his vision, a vision he now knew was sent to him by Oromis. Perhaps the elf would help him solve the strange dream like visions he had had of Arya long ago before Gil'ead.

As the two dragons settled to the ground Eragon slipped down Saphira's side. He was careful not to jump for, the last time he had, it had triggered a flash of intense pain from his scar. Looking around he watched as Oromis lit upon the ground with uncommon ease.

"Welcome to my home," said the Rider with a warm smile. "I live here on the Craigs of Tel'neair."

Eragon nodded and looked around the clearing while his new teacher disappeared inside the cottage. In the brief moments he was gone the young Rider examined the forest that stretched out behind the cottage. He knew nothing would hurt him in this place but old instincts and last experiences forced him to verify that. Brom had taught him that at the very least and his father's warnings still ran through his head as did the ones Zoe and Arya had added. He was still a human from the Empire after all and he had been raised to fear elves and the land that they dwelt in.

Oromis reappeared with two stools and two flagons of cold water a moment later. Taking the profferred seat Eragon sipped his drink silently and watched two birds flying high on the breeze. The silence of the elf beside him did not trouble him. Brom had often done this to him and Eragon enjoyed the chance to merely examine his surroundings with the attention to detail he had learned from both Zoe and Murtagh. He found it enjoyable now to look for hidden holes or rocks that may cause him to trip or shadows that could cause him difficulty. The routine had become part of his life even if it was a dark reminder of the dangers that haunted his footsteps.

The gap in the conversation stretched on and on until more than hour had passed in complete silence. Eragon was aware of both the golden dragon and his Rider's eyes on both him and Saphira but he did not look at either of them. Instead he merely kept looking out at the distant horizon or glancing towards Saphira who was crouched on the ground, slowly kneeding the ground between her front talons.

With the peaceful silence Eragon did his best to solve a persistent problem. The problem was the same one that had troubled him the previous day and many days before that when it had been raised by the person the problem was centered around. It was the matter of Zoe. How much would he be able to conceal from Oromis? There was a great deal he did not want the Rider to know and he had the feeling that hiding it from Islanzardi was one thing but hiding it from Oromis was quite another. He also could not help but wonder where Murtagh and Brom were and, thinking of them, made him remember Roran. Eragon made a silent promise to look in on his cousin later that night - he did not want to loose track of the person he had shared his childhood with during his time in this forest.

"You have learned the value of patience," said Oromis at last.

The sound of the elf's voice surprised Eragon and he grimaced ever so slightly at the words for he knew that they were not always accurate. "I fear that I am still learning it," he could not help but chuckle a little. "It is easier when one has things to think of or a task at hand." Eragon inwardly thought, _Things that have troubled me for a long time and show no sign of going away. I feel like I have been going around and around in circles. _

"True," said Oromis. "Let me see your hands. I find that it tells me much about a person." Eragon slipped his gloves off and raised his hands, palm up, to the elf and allowed him to grip his wrists with his thin, dry fingers. The touch sent tingles of electricity up his arms and made him want shiver at the almost unpleasant feeling. However he restrained himself and allowed Oromis to examine his palms for a silent minute.

"Tell me if I am wrong but your hands have done much labour in a field."

"I grew up on a farm," said Eragon with a shrug. "It was expected of me." _And_, he thought, _it was what both my mother and father wanted for me. They did not want this life of blood and swords. Neither do I after experiencing it. _

"You are accustomed to a bow but have skill with a sword."

"I learned the bow as a boy but I am a capable swordsman." _Capable enough but a far from the skill I need to beat an elf._

"And you have done some writing and drawing though not a great deal."

"I can read and write in both Common and the language we speak now." _I have Zoe to thank for that really. It was she who insisted upon it. Now it is one less thing for me to learn._

The intense scrutiny of the elf made Eragon slightly uncomfortable for it seemed to strip him of any mask or protection. In front of Oromis he felt as if all his flaws and strengths were displayed equally. It was a feeling that he unknowingly shared with many, including Zoe, who met the ancient Rider and dragon. The two had had centuries of experience in judging character and it was never more apparent then in moments like this when they focused with single minded intensity on someone.

"Beyond that I can only see that you tend to disregard your own safety." Oromis frowned slightly, "Your scars are evidence of that."

Eragon smiled ruefully, "I prefer to think of it another way for I do not seek out danger nor do I try to pit myself against the world just because I can. instead, I think it is because I will do whatever it takes to see something through to the end and protect those that I love."

"You enjoy challenges then?"

"I believe that nothing worth having is easy to gain," said Eragon steadily. He remembered Zoe saying that to him when he had been feeling particularly discouraged after a miserable day when he seemed to do nothing right. Thinking of his friend and her warm words of comfort made him smile slightly. "Though it is tempting to choose the easier path sometimes."

Silence fell for a few minutes and, despite his best attempts, Eragon was unable to glean any information from Oromis's mask like face. It reminded him of the times Brom or Zoe or Arya had been thinking intensely but not wanted the outside world to know what they were thinking of. Murtagh had had the same skill though Eragon had always found him easier to read during those moments.

Finally the elf asked, "Why are you here Eragon?"

At first the question seemed easy to the young Rider but he knew there was a deeper meaning to it or the Rider would not have asked it - it seemed like some sort of test or challenge. Looking out to the distant horizon Eragon considered the question for a few minutes. At last he said, "I am tempted to say that it so I can learn about being a Rider from magic to swordsmanship to my responsibilities. However I also think that is merely a part of it and that there is a deeper meaning. I am young," he shrugged his shoulders for it was true and there was no point denying it, "and I know little of the world or my place in it. Perhaps you will teach me how to be just and fair like the Riders of old were. How to view the world in a way that will allow me to uphold the values and laws set out by the Riders before the Fall."

"You are correct," said Oromis. "Power is useless if you do not know how to use it correctly. You must learn how to think, who you are, what you are capable of and how to apply that power. It is a lesson that all those gifted with power must learn lest they become like Galbatorix. He is an example of unchecked power that is not governed by empathy, respect, understanding or logic."

"I understand. Or at least I understand as much as I can right now."

"And you will understand it better when your time here is over." The elf stood then, "Now come I want to see what you are made of."

Standing Eragon unlaced the silvery tunic that he had been given by the elves that morning and pulled it off. He was grateful for the warm sun for spring's chill had not fully left and he, unlike the elf beside him, still felt that chill.

Oromis circled him only to stop in astonished surprise and exclaim with an almost horrified expression, "Durza left you with a heavy burden!" The elf gazed at him with a glimmer of worry and sympathy in his silver eyes. "Surely Arya offered to remove it?"

He could not stop the faint grimace that crossed his face. He could have had the scar removed by Ayra and she had offered...but he had refused. Perhaps it was because he was proud, in a rather strange way, of the mark. Unable to articulate it, he just shrugged. "Arya did offer but the scar is part of me now. Just as the curse Durza gave me is. I would feel strange if I did not bear it now." Eragon did not want Oromis's pity - he was a student here and he did not want this injury to rob him of more than it already had.

Oromis stared at him seriously for a moment before nodding and asking, "Are you ambidextrous?"

"Yes," said Eragon. "I have fought with both hands before. Brom ensured that."

"Good, that will save some time." He clapped his hands together, "Now I want you to..." for the next few minutes the elf had him preform a number of exercises for testing flexibility and dexterity. The movements sent twinges of pain through his back but Eragon said nothing and preformed them to the best of his abilities. He knew that, as the difficulty increased, so would the pain but he did not want the elf to think less of him and so he mastered it. "At least you can stretch without hurting yourself. I had not hoped for so much." Eragon said nothing and slipped the soft fabric of his tunic back over his aching muscles.

The elf turned and gazed at Saphira. "I would know your capabilities as well, dragon." He had Saohira preform multiple arial acrobatics that had her use every inch of her sinewy body. Eragon watched with a certain amount of pride as Spahira accomplished all but two of the exercises and not only accomplish but preform them with ease. The flying she had one during their journey had made her lean and strong as had her hunting. To see her performing the complicated tests with ease that came only from long practice seemed like sweet justice - he may be crippled but his partner was far from it. He hoped that they could somehow forge something with that.

_I fear we coddled the dragons of old._ said Gleadr as Saphira landed. _Few have your skill._

The elf shook his head, "Had Saphira been raised on Vroengard using the established methods she would still have been an extraordinary flyer. You have room to improve, we all do, but little, very little." Saphira, embarrassed by the praise, shuffled her wings and bent her head.

Then, for the next three hours, at least by Eragon's estimate, Oromis delved into every aspect of both his and Saphira's knowledge. Eragon had never been so grateful for the long hours spent memorizing complex verbs in the Ancient Language, learning about the natural world from Zoe or the dry history lessons that Brom had given him on long frorgotten kingdoms. Those lessons and the things he had picked up from Murtagh and the places he had travelled to allowed him to answer many of Oromis's questions. He faltered in places for he knew little of metallurgy and woodworking. His knowledge of medicine was limited to how to cleanse and heal small wounds or set broken bones - things that he had learned from Garrow and then Brom.

The interrogation, while grueling, was comforting for it reminded him of Brom and Zoe. He almost expected to hear his friend pipe in with her own tid-bit of information or for Brom to say 'Boy! I will only say this once!' Despite the strangeness and tingling awe of the whole thing he did his best to provide the Rider with an idea of his capabilities and the holes in his education which, Eragon knew without doubt, the Rider and dragon would remedy.

When they broke for lunch Oromis invited Eragon inside his small cottage while the two dragons remained outside. It was simple but Eragon liked it for it reminded him a little of his now destroyed home in PalancarValley and his fingers itched to examine some of the scrolls that lined the walls. A healthy respect for books had been cultivated after time spent with Zoe and his brief visit to Teirm. He was certain that he could spend many a day here just reading and learning from the ancient scrolls tucked into little cubby holes along the walls.

Next to the round table in the centre of the room there was a golden sword. The sheath and the blade were the same color as Gleadr's scales and the blade shimmered in the light. It was a Rider's sword and far fairer then Zar'roc would ever be with its bloody blade and even bloodier history.

On the inside of the door, set in the wood, was an image. It reminded Eragon a little of the 'pictures' that Zoe had described to him from the world she had come to Alagesia from. For this image was far too beautiful and accurate to have been created by mortal hands and he doubted even elven artists could create something so precise unless they used magic to aid them. The image showed a fair city that was lit by a setting sun. There were Turrets and towers with arches and grand doorways, great houses and roof top gardens that gleamed green against the grey stone and white marble. Behind the city was a towering cliff face. Remembering Murtagh's descriptions of Uru'baen Eragon realized that this was an image of the city before the Fall. Now, according to Murtagh, the city was a foul place and far different from this gleaming place caught by magic in the panel of the door.

"Is this Uru'baen before the Fall?" asked Eragon curiously. "I have never seen the city before but I have been told of what it looks like."

"You are right," said Oromis his face darkening with sorrow. "That is the heart of the darkness. The once fair city of Illeria has fallen. I made that fairth using magic on the day we fled the city."

"Ah," said Eragon examining the city. A cold tendril of fear grew inside of him as he realized that when he saw that city it would be to confront his greatest enemy. Oromis rested a warm hand on his shoulder and said quietly.

"Do not let it trouble you yet Eragon. We rarely know what the future holds."

"Do we?" asked Eragon thinking of Zoe. "When do we know? I know that my fate lies there ebrithil. I have known it since Saphira hatched for me and the Raz'ac came. If I do not go there to challenge him then I go there as a slave."

"Perhaps," said Oromis removing his hand and returning to the cupboards where he had been preparing a meal. "But Eragon the future is rarely set and you may never confront the King. It may be your fate to prepare someone else for that."

Words, spoken over a camp fire when he had first met her, came back to Eragon. _Do everything you can now Eragon. Time is short and you must be ready. _He knew, deep down, that she was right. It was his fate. So did Oromis and Gleadr. They knew what they were preparing both him and Saphira for - the last and most important fight of all.

Forcing a smile Eragon asked, "Did you know Brom?"

"Of course," said Oromis, "he was my apprentice before the Fall."

"What about Morzan?"

"He was also my apprentice but before Brom." Oromis gestured at an empty chair and set down two bowls of vegetable stew along with some warm bread. "Take a seat Eragon."

Musing over what the elf had told him, Eragon began to eat. The idea of his father as a Rider still seemed unreal. It was hard to imagine Brom as anything other than what he had been to Eragon. Then there was Morzan. The man who was charming enough to charm his mother and yet ruthless enough to kill thousands. What had it been like to teach such a person? Even more interesting was the idea of Brom as anything but a grizzled old story teller. Had Brom ever been a fresh-faced young youth?

"You are quiet Eragon," said Oromis. The elf began to methodically tear his slice of bread into perfect cubes.

The young man smiled, "Not according to Brom. He tells me that I need to stop asking questions or I will never give someone time to answer all of them."

The elf chuckled, "You remind me of him. Brom was only ten when he came to be my apprentice but his curiosity was insatiable and I doubt I heard 'aught from him but why, when, how and where. Do not be afraid to ask what lies in your heart."

The idea that he could ask this ancient myth whatever he wanted was a frightening thing to Eragon. He did not know where to begin or how. It was like being handed a chocolate box and not knowing which one to choose. It made him smile slightly to realize this for he had never had a problem asking questions before. Meeting his new master's eyes, Eragon said, "I do not know what to ask. I suddenly find myself unable to find a suitable question."

Oromis's eyes twinkled with humor. "A dilemma indeed my young Rider."

Deciding to risk something, Eragon asked, "But you have questions for me don't you, ebrithil?"

His words earned him a chuckle from the elf. "Yes I do. For I know little of how you came to me or what has shaped you." The elf studied him for another moment, "Correct me if I am wrong but you were born an orphan?"

A grimace forced it's way onto Eragon's face as he considered the life he may have lived had he known that his father was a few short miles away, "I was raised that way but I know who my father is and how I came to Carvahall. I am also aware of the reasons and," it was hard to say but he did, "I am glad my mother sacrificed what she did. Else I would have lived a life like Murtagh and I do not think I am strong enough to survive what he has." He did not hate his father but he did wish he could have known...known before Zoe forced Brom into telling the whole truth and not just half. Eragon guessed that Oromis was aware of his parentage but he was not certain and so he did not directly address the topic.

"Murtagh?" asked Oromis, raising one of his thin, slanted eyebrows in confusion.

"My half-brother and son of Morzan," Eragon looked out one of the small windows. "We met him on the road and he came with us and has become a brother to me truly. We share much and he knew our mother and I did not. Yet he lived as a son of Morzan and I would rather be dead then that."

"I see," said the elf. He gazed at Eragon for a moment longer. "Before you tell me your story I would like to tell you a little about the Fall for I doubt you have heard the truth of it living in Empire like you did. I think it will also answer some of your questions about who I am and how Brom came to be who he is."

The elf then began to explain not only how he came to be a Rider but how Morzan betrayed the Riders. The disability that the elf had sustained while fighting the Forsworn and that prevented him from using anything but the simplest of magic. That knowledge had been particularly interesting to Eragon for it answered many of his questions regarding why the Rider and dragon remained hidden in this forest. He also explained a little of how Riders were taught and how Galbatorix came to be so furious with the order he had once been a part of. It was vital information in its own way for it cleared much of the mystic away from the history of the Riders - a history that Brom had only touched on and never gone into in great detail.

When he finished, Eragon had completed his meal and so had the elf. For a minute Eragon considered the story that he had just been told and he wondered at the twisting strands of fate that had led to him sitting here. "I think I understand a little better now," said Eragon. "I did not know the full story behind how Morzan betrayed the Riders or why Brom was so desperate to exact a heavy price from him."

"Yes," said Oromis, "Brom never forgave Morzan and that pain was made worse by the loss of his dragon, Saphira."

Looking out to where Saphira was lying he smiled as he felt her exuberant excitement which had not dimmed during the few hours she had spent in Glaedr's silent company. "I suppose it is my turn ebrithil?"

The elf nodded, "I ask that you tell all that you can. For I would wish to know as much as I can about how you came here."

His teacher's words sent a tingle of warning through his body. Eragon was treading on dangerous ground and Saphira was no help for she was too absent from reality at that particular moment to offer any support or advice.

Clearing his throat, Eragon began much as he had begun with the Queen the previous day. He did his best to tell the full truth and hide nothing but once again he had to engage in the same creative half-truths that he had used with the Queen. Eragon owed it to Zoe to do his best to protect the truth of her arrival and the knowledge that she carried - even if it he was hiding it from someone he would have to trust with his whole heart if he wanted to survive the coming battles. He knew, as he spoke, that he gradually regained Saphira's full attention and her presence was a comfort to him as he did his best not to lie to his teacher. By the end she was even contributing and taking a little of the burden on her own shoulders.

Finishing with a short description of his duel with Durza, the death of Ajihad and his own journey to the elves, Eragon shrugged. "That is all ebrithil."

"Your tale is a wondrous one," said the elf. "You have experienced and done much in a few short months. Thank you for telling me what you did."

Eragon inclined his head but said nothing. Memories of his dead uncle, the burned village of Yazuac and the snarling screeches of the Raz'ac still haunted him. He would never forget them and nor did he wish it had been another way - he saw that now. The experiences, as hard as they had been at the time, were what had allowed him to come here as he was. He could not have come here as the fresh-faced boy from Carvahall or the inexperienced Rider from Terim. No, the elves would have laughed and scorned him. Even now, marked my Durza and memories, he was ready for what he needed to do in this place.

"Now," said Oromis clapping his hands together. "Glaedr and I have come up with a training regime for the pair of you."

_You will start an hour after sunrise tomorrow._ came the rumbling speech of the golden dragon.

Eragon nodded, "Tomorrow then." He followed Oromis's example and rose from the chair and was about to make his way to the door when the elf spoke once more.

"Eragon."

"Yes," said the young Rider as he turned to look at the silver-haired elf. "Remember that you are only a cripple if you allow yourself to think you are."

A lump formed in Eragon's throat for the elf had somehow guessed how troubled he was by the idea that he would never measure up because of his disability. "Thank you ebrithil," and he had rarely meant it more than he did right then. He knew it would be a struggle to overcome the curse he now bore but, to know that Oromis would support him and not judge him for that weakness, was a relief.

"Also," said the elf, "I hope you know that you can both trust me with the truth and that I expect it. I can understand there being things you feel you cannot speak of but I ask that you do your best to tell me the full truth."

Eragon was frozen and he felt embarrassed to have his half-truths caught out. He did not know what to say but, required by the ancient language to speak how he really felt, he did his best to articulate his reasons. Bowing his head, he said, "I can share secrets and tales that are mine to share but I cannot share those that are not lest I betray friendships and trust that has been forged in the heat of battle. It is because of those friendships and that trust that I still live and am free to come to you."

"I understand but I ask that you still try your hardest to tell me as much as you are able," the elf's voice was chiding and it carried a faint warning that Eragon immediately picked up on. However, Eragon did not shift his stance on the issue but he did not wish to alienate the elf anymore and so, bowing, he continued in the ancient language.

"I shall do my best," and he really would. He would do his best in everything that the elf asked of him. However this was one thing that he would not concede to the elf, no matter what, for he knew a little of the stakes that rested on the safeguarding of certain secrets. Secrets that were far more important than even Oromis and Gleadr or him and Saphira.

"That is all I ask," said Oromis with a nod. "And I would also like you To bring the saddle that Brom made for you tomorrow. We must train faster and harder then any Rider and dragon has before."

"Yes ebrithil. I would also like to thank you for saving me in Farthen Dür. I am in your debt."

_We are both in your debt._ echoed Saphira as she crouched beside Eragon.

Oromis smiled and inclined his head.

* * *

><p><em><strong>NOTE*** I am aware that there has probably not been enough time for MurtaghVarden to reach Surda but, because I had this written, I wanted to include it in this post. I also felt it was important for Murtagh's story to keep going and not die while I focused on Eragon/Zoe/Saphira/Arya/Oromis/Glaedr. **_

Aberon. The capitol of the nation of Surda. The nation ruled by King Orrin. A little nation holding its breath as it waited for the inevitable invasion that the Empire and its King would launch. A busy city spread out around a central keep where the King and his court ruled.

A hot wind blew out across the city and brought with it the hot, dusty smell of the desert that the man had crossed so long ago with an elf, a girl, a Rider, a dragon and an old man. The burning disk of the sun beat down on him. Its light was harsh and brutal as if trying to burn them all to ashes. The sky, a pale blue, stretched out endlessly without a single cloud to provide any relief or promise of rain.

The black haired man turned away from the balcony and returned to the shady but stuffy corridor of the palace. The harsh light made his skin burn and his head ache with its intensity. It also made his clothes stick to him with sweat and he disliked it all intensely.

In fact he disliked this place more than he let on to those around him and, while this was only temporary, it did not mean he did not wish they were moving onward that very moment. The sooner, in his opinion, they left this hot, bustling place the better. He wished for a breath of chilly winter to cool both his body and his rapidly fraying temper. A bit of snow and ice would go a long way in improving his outlook on life for the sun and heat acted almost like a pressure cooker for all the stressful duties he was coping with then.

The young man, Murtagh son of Morzan, had places to be, important places, but here he was, in a quiet corridor beside the doors to a balcony that was far from where he should have been. He should have been in the council room with Lady Nasuada and Brom for he had men to deal with and supplies to organize. If not there he should have been carrying out the little missions in the streets of Aberon assigned to him by Brom who was working fiercely to try and root out the agents of the Black Hand.

The spies and their accomplices were proving elusive and he had encountered dead end after dead end. His disguise, created by Brom using magic, was something he also hated intensely but put up with for the sake of his duties. If he could he would rather slink around the back allies looking like himself and never leave them until he had found one of those smarmy little spies or assassins but he could not. Showing his face in such places to people who would have been told to watch out for him for the King was as dangerous as holding a sign with his name and a 'Return to Glabatorix immediately for large reward.'

Since arriving in Aberon, in Surda, he had not stopped running from place to place and meeting to meeting. It wore him down just as it wore Nasuada and Brom down. The heat did not make it any better and nor did the city which, in his opinion, was far to similar to the ones he had run away from in the Empire for comfort. Everything about this place reminded him of years spent in the Empire that he would rather forget from the court manners to the ever present dangers to the smells to the people to the sounds.

A pang of longing for a familiar and much missed face made him wince inwardly. He had missed her since she had sent him one last smile before descending into the depths of a dwarven tunnel on her way to an ancient forest where she was unreachable even by magic let alone his thoughts. That had been weeks ago and yet he missed her all the more with each passing day. Her laughter, her smiles, her teasing...he broke the train of thought. It would lead him nowhere. For, even if she was here, she was born to a high family, to a High King no less, and there were many other things that stood in the way of their relationship exceeding the bounds of friendship - things that were as unchangeable as iron bound cliffs.

At any rate, a few kisses shared in a time of darkness and trouble rarely led to anything serious. They had both been under an enormous amount of stress and pressure both before the battle and after - that had made them risk what they did. Death had been close at hand, haunting their footsteps and making them feel like they were running towards an unseen cliff. Was it any wonder they had turned to each other during those dark, bloody days? Was it any wonder that they had shared things about themselves and their complicated pasts that they had never shared before? Could they be blamed for it?

The moments with her were as lasting as soap bubbles. They were beautiful memories that shone brightly against the darkness that was his past and, at the rate things were going, would be his future for a good while. So Murtagh had moved on; though he did treasure them as he treasured the moments he had had with his mother, Selena, or his mentor, Tornac. They were like a tantalizing taste of what he and Zoe could have had in some other time and place with different circumstances. That was all. So simple and yet so painful. He was sure that, after some time apart, the next time they met any feelings would have truly died and it would be like when they first met - friends. Or at least that would be true for her...Friends but nothing more and she would look for nothing more, that he knew without a doubt, and he would never risk it again either.

It was then that he sensed the approach of someone for, like any fighter worth their weight, his senses were never dull but awake and ready no matter how far his mind wandered. He had spent most of his life in a palace even grander than this one and knew, from long years of experience, how to tell the difference between a court lady, a guard, a servant, a king, a noble lord, a messenger, a commoner, a merchant and, sometimes, a spy. It was all in the way they walked and the way their clothes swished along the polished marble - things that spoke of authority, purpose, need, fear, stress, happiness, control, desire and power.

The soft footsteps he heard coming towards him fitted nearly into the category of 'spy.' The most dangerous of categories was the King but here in this palace that had changed and now he was more wary of a quick-witted spy than the foolish King Orrin. A spy also meant that Nasuada was in danger along with Brom and by extension, his own life Not only that but, if Nasuada fell, than this war would be lost and if this war was lost than so was any chance at revenge or freedom or safety. The immediate rewards were obvious as well. A spy also meant a chance to discover something about the elusive Black Hand which he had been unable to track since his arrival in this city. Adrenalin made his blood pump faster as did anticipation for a fight - something he had spoiling for these last few weeks.

Slipping back into the shadows of the door to the balcony the young man tightened the walls around his already heavily fortified mind. One hand tightened around the hand-and-a-half sword belted to his side and the other rested against the wall to act like spring when he decided to show himself. Watching carefully he saw a man, dressed as a humble kitchen drudge, come around the corner and hurried towards his hiding place.

Inwardly the young man laughed at this man. A kitchen drudge? Couldn't he have thought of a better disguise? One that would have allowed him access to the castle? No drudge would be allowed into the upper corridors where nobles and royalty moved. Nor would they ever be running light footed down a corridor at this time of day when they should be busy helping the cooks prepare dinner. The man was a fool. Murtagh hoped that he would never be such an idiot - not that he had ever had the chance.

The drudge or rather the spy, stopped by the balcony and caught his breath. His face had been artfully smeared with cooking grease and ash as had his clothes but no amount of costume design could hide certain things which the hidden watcher noticed immediately. The well toned arms of a fighter, the scarred hands that spoke of some battle experience, the light footsteps and the wary way the man looked around as if knowing he was being observed - they were all confirmation to Murtagh with his well trained senses. The man, the spy, had a well guarded mind but, in comparison to the people Murtagh knew, it was still too weak to pose a challenge to him. The spy was young to - maybe a few years older than Murtagh was. However, unlike Murtagh, he was far more inexperienced or maybe just arrogant after one too many successes. _Well, _thought Murtagh, _he would teach this fool a lesson. _

He made a quick decision in the shadows by the door frame. Surprise was his friend as was a superior mind and a unequaled skill with a sword. It was not a hard plan to put into action, which Murtagh did without a second more of hesitation. He did not want this fool slipping from his grasp after so many of his kind had these past weeks.

Leaping from the shadows Murtagh twirled his sword to the spy's neck and proceeded to methodically destroy the frantic attempts the man made to attack and then, with increasing desperation, to protect his mind. It was so easy to overcome him and then, with a lazy smirk to meet his wide eyes. Murtagh had always liked winning and he liked it even more when he had lost one too many times recently.

"What are you doing?" asked Murtagh. His sword was pressed to the spy's throat and the other man, had at one point, tried to take him on with a small knife. The knife, an assassins tool by the looks of it, had posed no danger to his sword or his skill. The thought was amusing to Murtagh.

The spy said nothing. His eyes were wide with fear and Murtagh decided that this spy was considered too young and too green which made him disposable to those who controlled him and others like him. Poor fool. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked the man pressing his sword a little harder against the spy's neck until a small drop of blood appeared. "Would you prefer to speak to the Lady Nasuada or King Orrin? I am sure it could be arranged."

"Who are you?" hissed the spy. He was defiant; an anger that would quickly fade when faced with prison. Murtagh knew his type - easy to buy and quick to rid oneself of when their usefulness was spent. This one would know very little of the organization he worked for but he might provide the key they needed to access the flourishing but hidden network of Empire spies spread throughout Surda.

A flash of annoyance, quickly stamped out, flared through Murtagh at the spy's words. He did not want to answer this idiot's questions especially if they were about his identity. "It doesn't matter who I am. All that matters is you are at my mercy."

"I know you," said the spy. The fear left his eyes and a look of surprised amazement crossed it instead. "I know you!" His voice rose with shock and amazement as if not believing the sight in front of him. The shock faded to an expression of calculating greed - a look that disgusted Murtagh and made him hate this fool with all his heart.

"No," said Murtagh in a dangerous whisper. His temper was quickly reaching the breaking point and he was seconds away from clouting this idiot on the head with his sword and leaving him for wiser and cooler tempers to deal with. "You don't." Or maybe this man did know him. He had been raised as the King's ward and met many of the spies who served the Empire but he was sure he had never seen this one before and his memory was excellent. For one thing this man was merely a disposable pawn and he would have no reason to speak with the King or attend the various dinners, dances or councils that the dark haired young warrior had.

"Yes..." said the man wonderingly. "You are the son of Morzan. The one the King..."

The sound of his father's name along with that hated title of 'King' sent him over the edge. The best way to rile him had always been to remind him of his birth and fate as both the son of Morzan and ward of the King. It had not changed even with the support of his new friends only grown easier to bear but, in this moment, all of that was quickly forgotten. The reminder, coming from this spy, made his blood burn with all the hatred and anger that had been there for as long as he had known what the future held for him as Murtagh son of Morzan.

With a growl of rage, he slammed the side of his sword against the man's head. The blow sent the spy crumpling to the floor - knocked out cold for a good long while if Murtagh had anything to do with it.

Sheathing his sword, Murtagh had to force his anger away and soothe his rapidly beating heart. Looking out the doors to the balcony he wished, not for the first time, that this was nothing more than a bad nightmare. Yet, despite his rage and fiery resentment, he felt a glimmer of hope. This spy would prove useful and soon, oh so soon, this army would be on the move.

Once it was on the move...it would be like dominos. One thing would lead to another, one battle to another, death to death, fight to fight and then victory or defeat. As one domino fell and another and another...it would lead him back to her. Back to the girl who haunted his thoughts and who had, among the fair elves and magic, no doubt forgotten him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Its been a while...I know I know! and I am so sorry but I really did not have ANY time to write or even think about writing except in small little intervals at random times. Anways here you are! I know that people are excited (so am I!) about the meeting of ZoeOromis but I think that will be next chapter. This one is already quite long (the longest I have posted before) and I wanted to let everyone know I am still alive and still writing...so look for that part of the story next update which will be soon! I promise! _**

**_I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story. It is inspiring and a special thank you to everyone who kept asking where the next chapter was - it really made me feel like I should be writing! _**

**_luckyponygirl_**


	41. To Be Zoe

It was nestled in one of the most secluded and least visited gardens of Tildari Hall. A small creek flowed close by it and, to reach it, one had to cross a tiny bridge arched delicately, almost floating, above the clear waters that, at this moment, reflected the last of the golden rays of sunset. A beautiful little gazebo was next to the bridge with pointed arches that seemed to fragile to support any weight. Flowering vines of pink, blue, yellow and purple flowers twined their way up the thin structure and a silvery curtain could be drawn across the open arches if privacy or warmth was desired. A few chairs were scattered around the inside of it, all of them comfortable and designed for comfort. Inside the bower, the fading rays of the sun suffused the air with a golden glow. Silver barked willow tress grew close to it and the rustling of their leaves created a sort of musical accompaniment. Around it was a quiet, untended garden that was normally peacefully quiet but, that day, there serenity of the place was shattered by a fierce argument.

Her daughter, her close advisor and friend, Lord Dathedr, were the ones arguing. The two's angry voices and harsh words were not suited to either the garden or the time in which they had decided to hold this argument and no amount of intervention from either her, Queen Islanzardi, or Oromis, Rider of Glaedr, had stopped the two's fierce duel of words. Admitting defeat the two listeners had settled back and waited until the scheduled time when, Zoe the ambassador of both the Varden and the dwarves, would arrive to meet with them. The Queen only hoped that this argument would cool before that rapidly approaching time.

"One can not toss an ambassador back like rotten fish," snapped Arya her emerald eyes snapping with fury. "She deserves our respect!"

"I am not saying send her back," said Dathedr angrily.

Islanzardi glanced at Oromis who shrugged in defeat. The two had tried to intervene multiple times during the last half hour but, as one could easily see, they had not succeeded.

Her daughter occupied a strange place in the kingdom now, mused the Queen as she gazed with not a little pride at her daughter. She was beyond any direct control that the Queen could exert. Arya was also one of the few elves who had ventured beyond the borders of the forest this past century and she was also one of the few to truly meet the Empire head on. No, her daughter's position was unique and the Queen had no wish to dispute it. If Arya cast her lot with the ambassador then the Queen would not argue against it. In this matter, like she should have done long before, she would follow her daughter's lead. On the other hand she also had tremendous respect for Lord Daethdr who had been one constant source of sound advice for as long she had known him which, even by elf standards, was a long time.

Islanzardi glanced to Oromis who, his grey eyes glinting with annoyance, shrugged in grim defeat. She felt sorry for the Rider; an argument as petty as this one was not what he needed. Oromis had other places to focus his attention and slowly fading strength and they were not, most emphatically, in this place. She had not asked him here to monitor a pointless argument but to seek answers to a problem, to a mystery more like, which confounded them all.

The two combatants drew air for breathe and prepared to launch themselves back into the fray but, before they could, it was interrupted by the very person the argument was centered around.

"Your majesty," came the pointed, very formal greeting, from the bridge. Everyone turned to see Zoe standing in the reddish light from the sunset looking at them. Her tone only confirmed that she had heard the argument - which is a reason one should not discuss such things in a thin walled gazebo or at least keep one's voice down if they did, as her daughter and Deathdr had emphatically had not. If Zoe found their discomfort and surprise amusing she did not show it - something that the Queen was rather grateful for. The entire situation was already bad enough as it was without the very person they had summoned laughing at them.

"Zoe," said Arya. The elf's green eyes, still glinting with passionate anger, cooled a little. Her daughter was still standing, leaning against on of the slender arches, while Zoe stood just outside the entrance to the small gazebo with its three occupants.

"Arya," said Zoe with a small smile. It was a warm, unguarded smile, a smile meant for a friend, but it faded quickly when she returned her attention back to those watching.

"Please be seated," said Islanzardi in a valiant attempt to sound welcoming and as if they were not lining the girl up for an execution. Her words rang hollow in the air, they all knew why Zoe was here and it was not to discuss pleasant matters while enjoying the sunset.

"Thank you," said Zoe in the same polite, formal tone as she took the proffered chair. When she was seated she turned her face slightly to look at the gathered elves, one eyebrow raised questioningly as waited for whatever was to be said.

In those brief few seconds Islanzardi was able to study her as she had not before or had a chance to. Zoe's face appeared ageless in the magical light that is neither day nor night. It was neither old nor young, though there seemed to be many memories and many things both happy and sad in it. A face that the tendrils of youth still clung to and yet the experiences of one much older to. There was, however, a look to her that seemed to announce her as young and fearless - perhaps it was the way she sat with her back perfectly straight and her eyes watchful. Or, perhaps, it was merely that she had dared come here and confront them knowing, as she must, that they wanted answers that would, if Islanzardi was correct, be very hard for her to give. There was the look of a fighter, a skilled one, and yet something else that Islanzardi was not sure of. A control and smoothness with manners that Islanzardi doubted she had learned among soldiers or common folk where such things mattered little when compared to the challenges of everyday life. Her's were deft hands with long fingers that showed evidence of weapon use and, most intriguing of all, was the color of her eyes. They were a bluish-grey that Islanzardi had never seen in the humans she had encountered when the Riders still flourished. It was a unique color and the power that resided there was even more interesting.

"I do not believe we have been formally introduced," said Oromis smoothly from his own chair.

"No," said Zoe with an incline of her head. "We have not."

"But you do not seem surprised to see me here," continued Oromis, "while most would have been."

Zoe shrugged, "It seemed clear to me that, somehow, at least one Rider and dragon had survived the Fall. Where better to hide then the forest of Du Weldenvarden? Today was merely a confirmation of that theory."

"I see," said Oromis though his eyes had only, if that was possible, become more interested as he gazed at the girl. "I am Oromis the Cripple-Who-Is-Whole and, while he is unable to be here, Glaedr is my companion."

"It is an honor," said Zoe with another polite incline of her head. "Please convey my greetings to Glaedr."

An uncomfortable silence descended on the small gathering until, with a small, almost amused smile, Zoe said. "In fear of being overly blunt I would like to ask why you have summoned me here. While I think I know the reason I would rather know it now then dance around it until midnight." Her words were obviously designed to both initiate a conversation and lighten the tense atmosphere that hung heavy around them. They accomplished both with light ease - an ease that came only from confidence and assurance.

Islanzardi glanced to Oromis, silently urging him to be the one to pose the questions. The Queen did not quite know what to ask or how to ask it in a way that would not cause insult to the ambassador. In the end they had to be careful. Zoe was not a elf nor a subject of Du Wedenvarden and they could not afford to offend her and, by extension, the Varden and, most troubling of all, the dwarves. If the girl was insulted it was her right as ambassador to leave and if she left...the long and short of it was that they could not afford that at this moment.

However, as Oromis did not seem willing to be the first to enter the fray, the Queen of Du Weldenvarden, inwardly sighed and began for she had never been accused of being slow on the uptake or frightened of confrontation. "These times are dark. As they grow even darker loyalties will be tested. You serve in a position of high command and, while I do not doubt your commitment to the Varden, you are still an unknown player in the game of war. We have already been betrayed by the Twins, something that cost us all." The silent addition of:_ are you going to betray us?_ went unspoken, though it was at the forefront of everyone's thoughts.

Zoe did not seem overly affected by either the words or their heavy, accusing, meaning. Her's was a careful mask of coldness so beautifully maintained that no sign of the girl behind it existed. Zoe sat so still, her face so calm, that she may have been a statue; cool like a breath of winter in the warm evening air.

Suddenly she sighed; such a soft sound that it was barely audible even to elven ears. "What," asked the girl, "can I say?" She looked at each and every one of them. Her gaze was not resentful but merely questioning. Looking out beyond the gazebo, her eyes seemed to fixate on something far in the distance. "They are answers that I cannot give lightly."

"Why?" asked Oromis. The Rider leaned forward ever so slightly, "Why do you stay so silent?"

Zoe turned those strangely old and wise, but still young eyes, to gaze at the Rider. For a heart beat she was silent, her face never losing its composure or giving away anything that she might truly feel at that moment. In those few seconds, Islanzardi had that feeling, the feeling that made her think that Zoe was far more than she seemed. That she was silently laughing at them for treating her as if she was a young, foolish little human who did not know the rules or the tricks of the game they all played. In those seconds the Queen wondered if anyone, even Brom, really knew who this girl was and why she had chosen their side.

In a measured, deliberate voice, spoken in the language of power, Zoe said, "Because there are some things better left unsaid." Quickly, she raised a hand to silence any objections that might be raised, "not because I choose it but because they are not things for me to tell. Some secrets are too dangerous to be spoken of lightly." For a second that hidden power, the one that made Islanzardi so uneasy that had been there since she had first entered Ellesmera, flared around the girl. A courage, a desire, to protect what she loved, something the Queen respected and suddenly, for some unknown reason, feared. That was courage, a love that could destroy and change what had once been considered the norm. "I will not share things that are not mine to share and I will not risk the future of this world simply because you demand it."

"Why?" once again with that simple question Oromis summarized all of their feelings and questions.

"Imagine," said Zoe in that reserved tone of reason once again. "That the future is a weaving. As we decide and move forward the tapestry takes form and each choice leads to a certain end. As we stumble through the dark of the present we are making the past and creating the future." Zoe stopped and seemed to consider how best to continue, "a single choice can change the lives of thousands. One choice can spell success or failure. This world stands on the edge of a knife; one single mistake and it will go tumbling into darkness." The girl's fingers tightened on the arm rests of her chair, "if it falls then..." she shook her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears that vanished quickly but, the sight of them, suddenly made her vulnerable to the Queen. She had been so controlled, so polite and ready to answer but now, for one brief instant, they saw her youth, her inexperience and her emotions. _Though_, thought the Queen, _the girl was quick to cover it. _

"So you ask," said Zoe, "whether I am on your side. Whether I am ready to die for this campaign. Whether you can trust me fully and completely." That power flared again, that courage that seemed to make everything surrounding it dim and tarnished in the face of this brightness and vitality. "This is my answer," her voice sharpened with determination. A subtle mix of venom and passion giving power to her words. "I will see this world safely to the end. I will see the Varden victorious and the Riders returned. I will do all in my power to ensure the success of this campaign no matter the cost I must pay for that."

"You speak powerful words," said Oromis. The two gazed at each other, silver and grey eyes meeting in a clash of wills that made the very air hum with power.

"I speak the truth," said Zoe calmly. "I speak what I see and what I will do."

"Who are you?" asked the Queen suddenly. She did not know why she asked such a broad question. Maybe it was because she did not know how to react to this power, to this girl who was so much more than anything they might have guessed she was. Maybe it was because she was beginning to feel as if there was much more, far more, than she had ever guessed going on. That the world, her world, was about to be expanded in new and uncounted ways.

"I am Zoe," she said simply.

* * *

><p>I met the Queen of Du Weldenvarden's cool blue gaze without flinching. I knew that, while my anger gave my words force and impact, I would have to be careful not to let it rule me in a way that prevented me from thinking. Besides that name, my name, summarized two people - the two sides of me - the princess and the teenager. It was the best answer I could give right then. The only answer. Before Islanzardi or Oromis or even the silent Lord Daethdr could say anything, Arya spoke.<p>

"You are more than that Zoe," said Arya angrily from her corner. "You cannot pretend to be anything less." Her words surprised me, I did not expect to be challenged in such a way by one person who I had always felt understood the heavy burdens of title and rank. I opened my mouth, unsure of how to respond, but, before I could, Arya continued. "You deserve the respect that your rank and position provides both as a ambassador and as..."

I quickly butted in, unwilling for my friend to continue on as she was just about to. "I am not that person here Arya. I have spent a great deal of my life being something else so do not assume I need to be recognized as it. I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

"It is not right," snapped Arya.

_No_, I thought,_ it is not right. It is not fair and never will be but that is life. Surely you have learned that Arya? Surely a century of life has taught you the most fundamental thing of life? That nothing is or ever will be fair. _I did not say that - I am not that brave or foolish - but, instead, I said in as even a voice as I could muster, "Is it right that Galbatorix is King? Is it right that the Riders fell? Is it right that the dragon are almost gone? Is it right that you were tortured by Durza and your companions killed? Is it right that so many have died and lost?" I met Arya's cold green eyes, "Nothing is fair Arya-Svitkona. I pay but a small price."

"This is not like that," said Arya determinedly. "This is not like that at all. This is who you are. Your sacrifices cannot go unrecognized any longer Zoe."

It suddenly all became to much for me reader. I had spent my day waiting for this little meeting - something Arya had told me of just after Eragon had left with Oromis - and yet I did not know what to say or how to say what I need to say. It made me angry. It made me weary and afraid. It was lucky that long years of discipline in holding back emotions came into play. It was lucky that the princess part of me, the leader part of me, knew exactly how to deal with these sorts of things. The girl from Earth did not.

I opened my mouth to respond, to speak of duty and how the sacrifices I had made were too insignificant in the long run to speak of so highly.

But Arya was not finished, it seemed she had hit her own kind of breaking point. Perhaps it had only be egged on by the argument I had interrupted between her and Lord Daethdr or my stubborn refusal to listen to her on this issue. "You have done too many things," the elf princess turned her angry gaze on Oromis and Islanzardi. "Do you know who you demand answers from? Do you? Why do you question alliances with those who you do not know but have given all they are to this cause?"

"No, we do not know," said Oromis, " but that is what we wish to know." The elf turned his ancient, piercing gaze on me. "You are no noble lady of Glabatorix's court. Not even the women of the Varden have the skills you do. You are nothing like anything I have met before." The elf paused, "There is power in you but a different power. There is experience and courage." The elf chuckled a little, "I know you have done much more than anyone has said you have."

Sitting there in that comfortable chair in the middle of an elvish bower I felt a burning resentment suddenly rise within me to be questioned like this. To become such an intriguing little puzzle that no one could just leave alone was infuriating. I was not used to doubt like this - no one had ever questioned my dedication, my loyalty or my heart before. Never, even in the darkest of days, had I ever had to deal with this. To have my loyalty questioned, after all that I had done, was the final straw. Arya was right, I did not want to go unrecognized any longer. I did not want this Queen, this Rider, this Lord not to know that I, Zoe, was stronger than they knew. I wanted to be called my name and I wanted to be trusted again by the very people I had to save if I wanted to save my own home. I had not realized this, had not guessed that I may ever want this. I had planned to give short, reasonable answers and to leave this meeting without saying my title or even speaking of the worlds that lay beyond this one.

My anger did color my voice and I was glad it did right then. I wanted them to know that they had crossed an unknown line and that I no longer cared what they thought of me. I wanted them to know that I no longer cared about my choices to remain silent and watchful from the shadows. I did not care about the warnings that the logical part of me was saying as it scolded me for my reckless stubbornness. This night, for just once oh reader, I wanted to be the old me and be recognized as her not as the ambassador of the Varden or the friend of Rider Eragon but as the person I was returning to. Tomorrow I may regret it; I may hate myself and my stupid pride but, right that second, I could not have cared less. For once in my life I wanted to hear my title, I wanted to know just who I was and what I could do. I wanted to be the Zoe that had led thousands to battle, that had faced darkness and won, I wanted to be that girl in my mind and in heart. Not just wear her mask in the hopes no one would look behind it to see me with all my flaws and fears. But, most important of all, I wanted to be trusted again. For those who I worked with to trust me again because my motives were clear and my dedication to one cause unquestionable.

"Let me show you," I said. The power that awoken during the Battle of Farthen Dur. The power that had been swirling just under the surface, just out of reach, for the last few weeks came flooding back. I felt it growing and growing but, this time, I was in control of it. I knew what I wanted. I wanted a spell I had first learned as a young girl from my mother during my long lessons of magic weaving. It was an illusion, not hard to create, but you did need a few words and an image or memories at hand.

Magic in my world was governed by a language, a little like the Ancient Language of Alagaesia, but it was still different and had its own rules. It was the language spoken in Court and by those gifted with magic. A high and fair tongue that was a challenge to learn but a true gift to know. That language, in those few blinding seconds, came back to me and, I have never been more thankful for memories like it before. Suddenly I knew the incantation and I knew how to direct the magic and so, letting the power flow once more, I whispered the words and was rewarded.

The air began to shimmer like air above a road on a hot day. I focused hard on the memory, the memories really, that I had to show them. A few choice ones, a few of the ones that were laden with meaning and, thank the heavens, had returned to me in time for this. The air solidified and shapes took form. One of a tall, golden haired warrior with a thin gold circlet on his brow and a large, battered looking sword at his side. The other was a little dark haired girl in a white dress, she was tucked in by his side and the difference in height was rather comical.

_My father was there. His noble face with its hard lines was soft and a gentle smile made his bright blue eyes glint with joy. One hand was resting on my shoulder, yes for this was a memory from when I was just a little girl. A little girl with large grey eyes, gangly limbs and a penchant for mischief who adored her daddy who could make the sun shine and the world safe with just one swing of his sword or a bear hug that crushed the air from one's lungs. _

_"Look out far and wide my child. You are of the House of Angard and of Llyr. A princess for our people and, who knows, one day you might be a High Queen."_

_"A Queen papa?" came my own voice, high with a question and the boundless curiosity of a six year old. _

_"Maybe. But Zoe," he looked down at me, his gaze suddenly so serious that it made the little girl, me, hold her breathe for what was to be said next. "Promise me that you will never look to the darkness. Promise that you will stay on the light, that you will fight for hope, for love and for peace. No matter how tempting it is to give in." _

_I did not understand that then. One only had to look at my honest, innocent face to know that. But, I knew enough to promise it with all the sincerity and determination of someone who does not understand but will do whatever it takes despite that. "I promise papa," I whispered. I would never forget it and later, much later, I would know what my father meant and how, oh how hard, it was to do as I promised. _

The image changed, guided by my own memories that I focused on. The next was the one of me as a teenager. I had just been presented with my sword, a true weapon and one meant for a practiced fighter who intended to do battle against the foul things that walked the Northern and Eastern lands. This was no practice sword but my own, one passed down through the House of Angard. My older brother was standing beside me, Pethred was also dressed like I was but the differences between us was quite apparent in that moment. I was gripping my sheathed sword tightly while he had his sword in his right hand. He had the confident ease of a seasoned warrior while I had the greenish look of a newly minted one.

_"Ready Zoe?" he asked with a grim smile. The sort of smile that one smiles before they go out and risk their lives._

_"No," I said honestly. "But I am in all truth as ready as I will ever be. It is just that I do not believe it."_

_"We must go," said Pethred seriously. "Prydain needs us if it is to be free of the darkness. It is our fate Zoe. To protect our land and our people." _

_"I know," I said with a shake of my head, "for I swore the same oaths you did at my crowning. I know why I will fight and risk so much. I have known it for as long as I knew their was a danger."_

_"Then fare thee well little sister," said Pethred softly. "And good luck."_

I summoned another memory, this one of Eomund with a rolled up missive in one hand as he waved the other arm above his head to emphasize a point. I was standing in front of him, a long dark blue dress falling from my narrow shoulders while my hair was braided up and away from my face. I had just come from a long and arduous meeting in which I had tried to win over some of the minor Kings into joining forces with us.

_"We do not have enough men to take on the combined forces of Pyderi and Telgar," snapped my younger brother. "Of all times to have a civil war it had to be now!"_

_"Eomund," soothed my illusion. "A suitable and clever battle plan has already been created. Perhaps when faced with true battle Kings Pyderi, Telgar and the little lords that follow them will not wish to continue this conflict."_

_"Do you honestly believe that?" asked my brother his voice, usually so calm, raised in fierce anger. "Our father is dead because of this war. Pethred is barely able to summon the courage to even command as High King and, while we destroy ourself from the inside, the darkness grows stronger."_

_"Then we must end this war quickly," snapped my counterpart. "When it is over we can deal with the bigger threat. We might be dead by next week but at least we can try Eomund!" _

I changed the memory again. It was me, with my little sister Lucia this time, both of us dressed for a coronation. A dress of silver and gold with silver bangles on my arms, my weapons polished at my side, my hair braided up with silver threads and I my arm wrapped tightly around Lucia's shoulders.

_"Pethred is to be High King," said Lucia softly. "The High Lords and those that followed them have been convinced of the need to join forces and reunite under the High King. But this is not the last of the fighting is it? There is more coming?"_

_"Yes," I said drawing her close. "The worst is yet to come."_

The image shifted again. This time it was me, standing in front of that woman. The woman who had given me my light in Farthen Dur along with more than one warning. One of her long fingered, slim hands was on my shoulder and her face was serious.

_"There are paths, gateways, between some of the worlds. The doorways allow for the exchange of memories, stories, legends and inventions. They are also able to transport someone from one world to another, if that someone knows the way to use them. Now they are threatened and so are the worlds they lead to. In the world of Alagaesia a King, once a member of an ancient order of dragon riders, has become too powerful and, somehow, has discovered these gateways. In his lust for power he has decided that, if he conquers the rebels who oppose him now, to turn his gaze to conquering other worlds." My illusion/counterpart stood very still, listening to these words. "I am sending you to a world called 'Earth.' There you will learn what you need to know about Alagaesia and then, when the time is right, you will be sent to that world."_

_"If I succeed," asked my counterpart, "I will return to my homeland?"_

_"Yes," said the woman. "TIme is a funny thing and it runs differently in some worlds. The time you spend on Earth will be nothing more than a few minutes on Alagaesia or here, in your homeland. A year or so in Alagaesia is equal to just over one year in this land."_

_"I must go?" whispered my counterpart. "There is no other you could ask to complete this task?"_

_"No," said the woman, "what powers decide these things have chosen you."_

_"I understand," said the illusion of me with a hint of resentment. "Can you give me any advice?"_

_"Only to follow your heart," said the woman softly. "Go brave one and hold true for the fate of not just your own land rests on this."_

I let the magic fall. I let the illusions fade away and I was left with pure silence. An unbroken silence as the three elves, even Arya who already knew much of this, absorbed the new knowledge. They had been told things that had radically changed the way they viewed their world. Suddenly, what had seem the very limit, was not and they discovered that, just beyond the edge of the world, was another whole universe that was so close and yet so far away. They had just discovered that I came from one of those far distant universes and that, in those few minutes, the stakes resting on this war had just been doubled and then tripled and then multiplied by a thousand.

It was Islanzardi who broke the silence first. Her voice held a stunned quality to it that, in other circumstances may have been amusing to me. "You are of another world?"

"Yes," I said quietly. "I am." A quiet, contemplative silence fell over the little bower by the quick flowing stream. The last rays of sunlight had faded by now and the first of the stars had begun to appear across the purple and blue dome of the sky. The silence was soothing for me. I had been walking the edge that night, that day, on the border between icy control and fierce resentment. I needed to rebalance myself especially for the questions that were sure to come.

"Your brother is a High King?" asked Dathedr. I had the feeling that the elf lord merely wanted to confirm as he shifted his view of me from one thing to another.

"Yes," I said. "He is. I am the daughter of the High King. My eldest brother, Pethred, now rules in his stead." I was silent for a moment, and then I continued wanting to tell them a little more perhaps about who I was or who my family was.

"I was there for his coronation. It was strange that day." I was lost in my memories, some growing clearer the longer I focused on them and, not really aware of what I was saying, I tried to put the emotions I had felt then into words. "You could have put anyone on our horses and they still would have cheered like mad. But that is the way of Kings and Queens. It is not us that they care for but what we mean to them: a cessation of darkness, a chance for prosperity, food on the table, a dark lord overthrown and a High King watching over them."

I shook my head slightly and, unable to sit still, I rose and walked over to the edge of the bower. I rested a hand on the side of the arch and gazed out at the sky. "I am sure that whatever you have done it was for the right reasons," said Arya quietly from her place on the opposite side of the bower.

"Arya," I said sadly, "I have done many things. I have been to war, sent my cousins and friends to die, taken food from the mouths of widows and children to feed an army." I turned my head ever slightly so the last of the sun's lingering warmth warmed my face. "We are not philosophers; we are sovereigns. The rules that govern our behavior are not the rules for other men, and our honor, is a different thing entirely, difficult for anyone but the historians to judge."

Arya did not know the ferocity with which I had fought or the blood I had spilled or the secrets I had revealed and made to save the kingdom that my family was so tied to. I had followed a bloody, costly path because I had been forced to. She did not know that I was only beginning to return to the person I really was. That the more I fought, the more I did, the more I found myself retreating back to that Zoe and less to the girl from Earth. That Zoe could not survive here and so, like a snake shedding its skin, I shed that girl. I picked up my old weapons, drew on my old armor and forgot what I had once thought was my life in favor of what I truly was.

But reader, oh how I hated it! I quailed at the thought of taking up my old burdens and responsibilities. It was self-doubt that pursues us all that told me this now. It whispered in my ear about my flaw and my failures and my unworthiness. I had avoided it for the most part but now...now it was back. It sunk its claws into me and I found myself desperately wishing I could just go back to Earth. Even if I did succeed in this mission the road I walked was not easy and never would be easy. It was my fate and I grew weary of the endless fight, the endless watching and the endless war.

Am I bouncing all over the place reader? From one extreme to another in a confusing mix? I suppose I am. One moment I want to be all strong and recognized and the next I want to hide in a deep, dark cave for the rest of eternity. I am sorry about that but, like I told you long ago, I am telling you how I feel and, today at least, that is a complete range of emotionally turbulent things. I do not know what kind of life you live reader. I do not know if you have ever dealt with something like this. I think you understand however, I think you are that kind of person.

Because, no matter how I might have felt when filled with resentment, that was not the path I walked. I might be glad that this Queen, this Rider and Lord knew who I was. That I was working for them and would until it was all said and done. That I could now walk beside them as I truly was and not cloaked in deception and shadows that I forced others, friends like Eragon and Arya, to bear. I may be glad that, in a fit of childish emotion, I had thrown all my caution and reserve to the wind and released all that pent up emotion and magic in a spell that proved without a doubt that I was not of this world. I had spent many a sleepless night making and unmaking my plans. I had done many things but now, standing looking out at this garden, I knew the hardest of all was still coming.

"What will happen now?" asked Oromis. "What will you do? We now know your purpose but how can I, how can we, assist you?"

I turned and gazed at him. I was surprised, to be offered assistance or any kind of support after the words we had exchanged. It was a complete left fielder. For a second I was speechless and I did not know what to say. When I had recovered my voice, I started slowly, "I must ask that everything I have shared with you goes no further. Galbatorix cannot know I am here, if he knew that someone like me was her then..." I shivered at the thought and continued, "He will search for me and then he will find me. I may be strong but I cannot withstand him forever. One mistake, one single mistake, and we will all go tumbling into defeat."

"It shall go no further," said Dathedr. The elf lord gazed at me steadily, "You have my most sincere apologies for doubting you my lady." It was an honest apology, for the Ancient Language did not leave room for falseness or feelings that were not truly felt and I was grateful for it.

"Indeed," said Islanzardi. The Queen was gazing at me so intensely that I shifted slightly at its force.

I smiled slightly and nodded, "I must also ask that none of you share the truth of my identity with anyone or treat me any differently than an ambassador would normally be treated."

They gave their words, their oaths, without complaint. In some ways telling elves was far easier then telling mortals ever would be. Elves understand about secrets, they understand about keeping things close and waiting until the right moment. Us mortals do not have eternity to keep things quiet and so, fair enough, we speak to quickly about things we should be silent about.

"Thank you," said Oromis. The Rider met my eyes and trapped my gaze in their silver depths. "Thank you for fighting alongside us even if this battle is not truly yours." As I gazed at the Rider I saw the same determination I had seen in Saphira when she had a purpose. It was the drive and single-minded determination of a dragon tempered with the reserve and cold logic of the elf. What a dangerous combination reader.

I inclined my head; glad to break the staring contest between the Rider and I for I did not know how to respond to his words. It seemed my tongue had stopped working all of a sudden.

It was then that Islanzardi spoke, "The stakes resting on this war have only increased. We now are fighting a war upon which countless thousands of lives rest. The future has only become more clouded and we are still not strong enough to face Galbatorix."

I shook my head firmly, "So long as there are still those who are brave enough to believe in it, then we will have victory. I have hope. Hope in Alagaesia. Hope in victory. Hope that we will win this war and that the balance will be restored." My words were true but I do not think anyone, at that particular moment believed them but, I could only hope, that they would soon.

Oromis rose and, behind him, Islanzardi also rose and so did Dathedr. It seemed our meeting was over and, despite everything, I was glad that it had happened the way it had. At least this was behind me and now the real story would begin.

Islanzardi led the way out of the small gazebo and into the garden surrounding it. Farewells were said and, just as she turned to leave with Arya beside her, the Queen turned and met my eyes. "I think I understand you better Lady Zoe. You and I are not so different."

It was true reader. The Queen of Du Weldenvarden and I were not so different from each other. We had both suffered and we had both made sacrifices that others could not understand. Yet, despite that, there were some key differences between us that we shall not go into now. Suffice to say we had an understanding and that was enough. Understanding was all we needed right now.

As the Queen and my friend and ally, Arya, turned to go accompanied by Lord Dathedr. As they turned away and this part of the story comes to a close I saw the three as Zoe the princess might see them. A Queen of elves with her regal bearing and cold face. A princess all grim determination and steely pride. An elf Lord watchful and careful but strong nonetheless. In those few, short seconds, I felt a little hope flare inside me. Strength there was here but, just as important if not more, there was desire. A desire that had burned long within this hidden kingdom as anger and bitter revenge added fuel. Perhaps I had misjudged these elves with their perfect ways and airy-fairy views of the world. Perhaps they were the patient ones in this whole adventure. The smart ones who had chosen to wait and wait until the perfect moment to spring forward and exact revenge for each elven life that had been taken. For each dragon that had been killed and each injustice that Galbatorix had committed. Perhaps, when released, this was a desire that would carry us all the way to the end. To victory or to defeat but it would take us there.

I turned and met the watchful grey eyes of Oromis. The elf held out his arm and, long practice and manners coming into play, I gracefully accepted it and allowed him to lead me through the gardens and corridors of Tildari Hall. We were silent, each absorbed in our own thoughts. It seemed to silent, for we were the only ones it seemed in this part of the Hall.

Oromis broke the silence, "How long have you been with Eragon?"

"Since Yazuac," I said. "I parted with them for a time after Teirm but found myself once again with both him and Brom after Dras'Leona."

"I see," said Oromis and he fell silent once more. Until we came to an open circular courtyard beyond which I knew lay the very front of Tildari Hall. "Glaedr would like to meet you," said the Rider with a quick glance to the sky. "But before he arrives I have a question for you."

"A single question?" I asked with a smile. "I do not mind answering more than one my Lord."

The elf chuckled, "It is true that I have many for you. I wish to know more of your land, your past and your people. Perhaps you would indulge me?"

It seemed like such a small request to me reader. It did not seem hard at all to speak of such things to someone like Oromis. Someone so old and wise could be trusted with such things. I knew he would listen. That he would understand what I was trying to say and that, whatever I told him, he would keep silent of.

"It would be my honor," I said quietly, "to share what I can with you my Lord. Though I cannot share everything."

A rare smile graced the Rider's face and, while it faded quickly, I caught sight of the elf that he must have been before the Fall. Before all of this mess destroyed him. "Perhaps in the evenings you would care to come to my place on the Craigs of Telnar?"

"I shall be there," I said with a smile. "But what was the question you had for me tonight?"

The elf was silent for a long moment as he studied the starry sky. At last he spoke and his words were heavy, "My time is nearly over Lady Zoe and so is Gleadr's. We have but a little left, enough to help Eragon and Saphira but it might not be enough to see this war to its end." The elf turned and gazed at me with such intensity that it made me shift uncomfortably and look away for I was unable to hold it. "I want you to promise me that you will be there for Eragon and for Saphira. You are the only one here who is not bound by loyalties to either the elves, the dwarves or the Varden. You are the only independent power even if you do accept some things like the chance to be ambassador."

I looked out across the courtyard as I considered the elf's words. I had already sworn to do as much as I could for Eragon and Saphira. I knew I had to. I knew what rested on their success and their determination to succeed even when all odds were against them.I also knew that Oromis was right. I was independent, my loyalty belonged to my brother in a far distant world. Only the bonds of friendship tied me to the Varden and the dwarves in this world. In the end, if I was forced to, I could break those bonds even if doing so would be the last resort in a truly desperate situation but oaths, made in a Language that held you accountable, were as binding as chains. I looked back to the Rider who was watching me quietly and nodded my head. "I swear it to you like I swore it to myself and to Brom when I first came here."

"Thank you," said Oromis. The Rider glanced up and gestured with his one hand, "Here comes Gleadr."

I heard the faint thuds and then, swooping into sight, the golden dragon appeared. His scales glittered in the moonlight and his great wings blotting out huge sections of the sky. The vibrations of his wing beats made the trees stir and a dust devil spin on the white marble of the courtyard. When he landing the impact shook the ground. It was then that the dragon turned his head, a head longer than my entire body, to gaze at me and Oromis. A childish fear of 'what if he eats me!' grew within in me at the sight of this massive, ancient and terrifyingly powerful dragon. I suddenly felt very small and very easy to squish.

Oromis slipped his arm from mine and I understood. Glaedr wished to speak to me and to do that I would have to get a little closer. However lovely reader, I hope I'm not incinerated by dragon fire.

Glaedr lowered his golden head to gaze, eye to eye, with me. It was the most terrifying and yet humbling experiences of my life. In those few short seconds I met the gaze of a creature that was so unlike anything I had ever met. Not even Saphira, for she was so young, could give me such a feeling. Glaedr seemed to look beyond the superficial details that made me up and into the very core of my being. He seemed to pin me against a wall and force me to confront him with that golden gaze.

_You have done much, _came Glaedr's deep, rumbling voice inside my head. _I see it in the way you look, the way you talk, the way you watch the world. _

I do not know what possessed me to do it but, slowly, I raised a hand and rested it on the hard scales below the bright gold eye with its black iris that was nearly as big as my hand. Glaedr shivered at my touch and so did I.

_Do you trust me? _I asked softly.

_Yes, _said the dragon. _Oromis is wary of you and for good reason. But I am not. _

_Why do you trust me so easily? _The idea that I had earned Glaedr's trust was a surprising thing to me.

_Because I need to. Because I will do anything to protect my Rider and the new hatchling, Saphira and her own Rider. Because I want Galbatorix dead and you want all of the same things. _

_Yes, _I whispered, _I want Eragon and Saphira to live. I want the King dead and I want to be able to go back. _

Glaedr's gaze was unblinking and then he nodded that great head. _If you need me and my strength then ask. You and I are not so different. We want the same things and we need them soon. _

I stared, stunned at the golden dragon. It felt like I had a secret ally, a little like with Brom and it was the most comforting thing in the world right then. I smiled and found myself unable to speak or formulate a reply. I knew Glaedr understood and that he could feel my gratitude and overwhelming thanks even if I could not articulate it. Sometimes feelings cannot be put into words and this was one of those times.

I bent my head and stepped away. Oromis smiled slightly at me, "I do not know what he said to you and I shall not ask."

I glanced at the Rider briefly before looking back at Glaedr. "We had little to say. Only what was important."

Oromis nodded and said with a small bow, "Till we meet again my lady."

I copied the gesture and nodded my head, "Till next time Rider Oromis. Glaedr." I stepped back and watched as, with the grace of elven kind, Oromis sprang lightly up the mountainous shoulder of the golden dragon. The second Oromis was settled in the saddle the golden dragon, who was the size of a small castle, sprang upward with two great heaves of his wings. The force of the air being pushed downward made my hair fly out around me and I could not hear anything above the thunderous sound.

I turned away and left the courtyard. I did not want to return to my rooms. This was not a night that peace could find me reader. Too many things had been dredged up from the past and too many thoughts buzzed around my head.

I stopped on an open terrace that overlooked the forest of Du Weldenvarden. The trees were dark shapes against the brilliance of the night sky. A slight breeze ruffled my hair and brought with it a faint scent of rain. I wondered if those who watched this world were watching me right now. The ones who had sent the bright blue egg of Saphira Brightscales to Eragon and not to Brom. I think you know who I mean reader. I think you know more about this adventure then you let on but who am I to know?

Standing there I began to cry. I was crying for everything I had lost and everything that was to come. I was crying for those who had paid far heavier then I had ever paid for this moment. Under the starry night sky in a elf kingdom far away from my family and the world I truly belonged to, I sobbed my heart out. I cried for no single reason and I am sorry reader. I am sorry you had to be here for this but I do not have the heart to send you off.

Tears cannot go on forever and mine ended soon enough. I felt more at peace now - more settled. It would not be long now. It would be soon and then, then it would be time to test my resolve and the strength of all those involved. But I was ready. I, Zoe of Angard and Llyr, was ready. I had been ready for a long time I just had not known it and had been unwilling to admit that I was to myself. I was ready to do what had to be done. As I stood there I knew there was no going back. I could feel the power, the magic, inside of me settled for now but there like an ever present weapon at my side.

I was taking a leap of faith. I was trusting instincts that could be wrong and could lead us all to defeat but I would try to let all of that go. It was time to see if I could really be the old Zoe. It was time to find out if I was strong enough and determined enough to do what had to be done. I hope you'll stay by my side reader for your presence is welcome. Maybe by having you along I know that someone, far away, will remember and understand just how everything really happened and why.

* * *

><p><strong><em>This was the most challenging chapter I have ever written. I agnozied over it and I mean I have never spent as much time deleting,writing, deleting and then writing on a single chapter then I did on this one. So many people wanted this chapter and I wanted it to be as perfect as I could make it. BUT here you are. <em>**

**_I would like to dedicate this chapter to a few readers who have stuck with this story since it was a very rough, not very well thought out side project. They are:_**

**_Flames of Nocturne _**

**_M.X.M. World Traveler _**

**_Leader of Sky Clan _**

**_Juli Beawr _**

**_timkaylor885_**

**_I would also like to thank everyone who has ever read and reviewed and even taken the time to look at this story. Your suggestions, creative ideas and in general support has been so awesome. It is truly amazing and I never imagined it going this far. SO THANK YOU! _**


	42. Chapter 42

He had not expected to see her. Her. Of all places it had to be here and this very second. Why? She should not be here – she did belong here among the thieves, the drunkards, the laborers, the women of questionable virtue and various other low lives who haunted the cheap taverns of Aberon. No, she belonged among the high-born ladies of Glabatorix's court where the floors were smooth marble and the air was perfumed with sweet scents. Where maids and footmen and butlers and kitchen drudges and cooks and merchants and seamstresses saw to every need and want that a lady may have. She belonged there. That was where he had left her. Back there - not here and not now.

In the shadowy corner where he had taken up residence, Murtagh cursed his bad luck. True he was hidden behind a carefully crafted magical disguise but what did that matter? She was quick of mind and instinct –she would see beyond it he was sure or at least that was what one part of him was saying. Yet why, he wondered, was she here? Her future had been secured with her betrothal to a wealthy, well-respected lord right before he had run-away. Unless, whispered a small voice, those skills that made her so attractive to the young lords are being put to use as a spy. A grimace flitted across Murtagh's face. It would not surprise him if she became like his mother – an assassin and spy of the highest caliber. She was that type.

Should he leave? Should he vanish into the shadows of Aberon and hope to escape detection? Or should he stay and pretend nothing was wrong as he pretended to drink his tankard of murky ale? The choice was made for him when she turned and caught his gaze with her own bright green eyes which flicked around his personage taking in every detail of his dress and visible weapons. A small smirk twisted her red lips up and, then, she began to make her way to him. She threaded her way around the tables and noisy men as if they were gracefully dancing couples on a ballroom floor.

For a second Murtagh considered bolting for the door but quickly discarded that idea as cowardly. Instead one hand slipped to the hilt of his sword as he lounged back against his chair. He was grateful for the thick hood of his cloak and the long years that had taught him how to stay relaxed and at ease when he was far from it. He did not know what to say to her – his mind pulled a blank on this one.

She slipped into the seat across from him. Her green eyes never leaving his shadowy face. On closer inspection he could see the changes in her. Her clothes were no longer fine silk but hardy cotton and wool. Her hands were no longer delicately soft with immaculate nails. Dark circles traced under her verdant green eyes and her skin was no longer alabaster white. Even the once shining red-gold hair was now dull from travel and grime.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked. Her voice, he noted, was the same even now, even here.

"No," he said thickening the word with the distinctive accent of Surda as best he could but suspecting it would not succeed.

"Long time no see," she said a smirk growing on her face. "I did not expect to see you here my lord."

Murtagh was silent. Disguises had to be forgotten now and he would have to confront her as much as he hated to. It was a terrible risk and he almost wondered if, the second she left, that Galbatorix would descend on him to whisk him back to Uru'baen. Meeting her green eyes he inclined his head slightly, "My surprise was no less than yours fair lady."

A small laugh escaped her. Her eyes glittered with laughter and in that second he was transported back to a gleaming ball room in Uru'baen. Yet, looking at her now, her beauty seemed cheap to him and her charm had lost its appeal. He had never been truly serious about pursuing her but he had enjoyed her company whenever they could escape watchful eyes and listening ears. Now, well, now he would rather be enjoying the company of Zoe who was, by far, the more beautiful of the two - not that he was biased at all.

She raised one hand and gestured at him, "Interesting disguise."

He shrugged, "It has served its purpose."

"I would not have known it was you if was not for the sword."

Murtagh suppressed a grimace. He was loathed to part with the sword and yet, as had just been proven, the weapon was too distinctive if one knew what it looked like. Few fought with a sword like it and she would remember it after seeing him spar with Tornac. She had even handled it once.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"You know why," she said quietly. Her fingers twitched slightly as if nervous.

"Escaping a husband?" he asked skeptically. "Serving the King? Be specific Vivian."

Her eyes darkened slightly whether with anger or memories he was not sure. "You are right on both counts lord. I serve the King to escape my husband."

"Interesting," he said shortly.

"There is a quite a price on you," she said candidly.

"What? An eye for the prize?" he responded coldly.

"You used to call me a friend," she snapped at him. He wondered distantly if entering an argument with her was the wisest of actions. _Too late now_, he thought. If they argued they argued and this meeting had already done a great deal of damage.

He could not stop the faint, bitter chuckle that escaped him, "Friend? You threaten me Vivian. Friends do not threaten to hand each other to the King."

That made her silent for a good long while during which Murtagh had to listen to a drunken song about a cow, a moon and a fiddle. Finally she spoke, "I would never give you to the King Murtagh but there are those who would. You must be careful."

He did not soften his outward attitude to her for he did not know if her words were true. He did not know if they were spoken with true feeling or not or if she was merely luring him into a false sense of security from which she could easily betray him. "What will you do now?" he asked.

"Forget I ever met you."

"How can you do that?" he inquired.

"I am given a certain amount of autonomy," she said glancing around quickly as if checking for eavesdropping ears. "I do not have to say anything about this meeting or who I met. Even if he saw your face in my mind you truly are hidden well with that mask. I will protect you."

Murtagh dipped his head in thanks, "I owe you then."

"No," she said quietly, "you helped me and never asked for anything from me. I can do this for you."  
>Murtagh stared at her in surprise. He had thought she had forgotten the days he had helped her escape the tedious sewing and lady activities for a busy city or training field. Had she remembered the afternoons they had spent together laughing? Had she remembered the brief moments of freedom from restrictive rules? "Still," said the young man quietly as he rose from his chair, "I must thank you." He did not want to leave without thanking and yet he wanted this meeting to be done. He wanted it debts cleared away and to wipe his slate with her in an effort to protect his fragile new life.<p>

The girl nodded and rose like him, "We cannot meet again." Her voice took on a warning tone and her green eyes darkened with seriousness. She gripped his forearm tightly with surprising and hidden strength; her knuckles whitening as she forced him to meet her gaze. In that second she reminded him of his mother. The same tint of sadness mixed with resignation to fate that had shadowed her every smile and laugh even when Selena was with him. A pang of regret pierced his heart to think of this girl becoming like his mother – of her losing her easy laugh, her sense of fun that had been one of the few things he had found any joy in during those other years. But, he knew it all to well; she would lose it all very soon. That was the way of things and they both knew what her current job entailed. She would die young. She would die alone and friendless. She would be a shadowy assassin and spy who never tasted freedom or love or joy or true happiness because of the darkness that haunted her every memory, deed and thought.

"No," he agreed quietly, "we won't meet again Lady Vivian." He wondered if she saw his regret and his pity. He wondered if she understood just what she had chosen by joining the Black Hand or if it had been an impulsive decision made without considering the consequences. Or maybe, like him, she had never really had a choice and any chance at freedom was only an illusion that disappeared before he could use it.

She nodded her head and then stepped away from him, letting go of his arm as she did so before turning and making her way away from him just as he made his way away from her. He left her in that tavern and stepped out onto the shadowy street. The shadows between the lit lanterns were thick and it was easy for him to slip into them and away from the light as he made his way towards the upper city where the castle was and where Brom would be waiting up to hear his latest report.

It felt strange to walk away from her. He had never thought to see her again and yet here she was. Once more he left her and, this time, he hoped for the last time. She was a symbol of those days, a reminder, and he wanted to leave all reminders behind. Once more he entered the life he had lived before a Rider, a dragon, a story-teller and a princess from another world spun it upside down. Once more he turned away from it and returned to this new life where the deeds he had completed mattered more than the truth of his parentage. A life he had never thought to live and still did not believe was nothing more than an elaborate dream he would wake from.

As he slipped past the guards who turned a blind eye to him, he hoped that he would never meet her again. He hoped Vivian would be buried in the sands of time and that she would keep the secret of their meeting until her dying day. He would not tell Brom of this meeting, no, he would speak of the gossip he had picked up on his wanderings and the other bits of useful information that they were using to piece together an understanding of the Black Hand's workings. Already they had found a few spies, not anyone who knew anything but it had reinvigorated Murtagh and the few spell casters who assisted him when he needed a little magic. The man he had found sneaking out of the castle a few days, no over a week now, had not known much but he had known enough to set the ball in motion once again. To start the tricky business of hunting these slippery characters down. He could only hope that he would not meet _her_ again and that this night would be forgotten.

* * *

><p>Eragon staggered slightly under the weight of the saddle as his new teacher set it in his arms. The new saddle was a work of art in its own way with the same general shape as Brom's, with a row of buckles to secure his legs and another set designed for his arms. Each buckle was tooted and so was the sculpted leather seat.<p>

Oromis helped Eragon relieve Saphira of her current saddle. "Saphira you will go with Glaedr today, and I will work with Eragon here."

The blue dragon nodded in understanding. Heaving his golden bulk off the ground, Glaedr soared off to the north, Saphira close behind. The bright early morning sun reflected off their scales in such dazzling displays that Eragon found it difficult to look at them.

Oromis did not give him any time to ponder Saphira's departure and what that meant for him; the elf marched him to a square of hard-packed dirt beneath a willow tree at the far side of the clearing. Standing opposite him, Oromis said, "What I am about to show you is called the Rimgar or the 'Dance of Snake and Crane.' The Rimgar is a series of exercises that will help you develop the skills you require for combat."

Nodding, Eragon followed Oromis's example. He said nothing of the occasional twinges of pain from his back and, as the session continued, even those aches and pains eased as his muscles warmed. The poses were difficult – of course – but not so difficult that he was unable to accomplish them. He was not so naïve to think that his back was healed but he suspected that basic stretches like this were actually good for it and, until the difficulty increased, he would not feel his old injury. That gave him more confidence and helped him relax into them more as he had not done before. This confidence allowed him to flow more and, as the nerves and tension left, the poses came more easily.

As Eragon followed Oromis's instructions he could not help but compare the old Rider with his previous instruction from Brom. Oromis was far more patient and calm than Brom had ever been but, they both shared the same unyielding determination to see him complete each task to their satisfaction. His father had little patience for mistakes or complaining and had made that abundantly clear with his lectures and glares. Oromis made it clear with his firm words and the faint aura of power that clung to him.

After quickly washing the sweat from his body in the cold water of the nearby stream, Eragon followed Oromis deep into Du Weldenvarden. Walking behind his new teacher through the silent forest made the young Rider uncomfortable. Zar'roc had been left in Oromis's hut and, without it, Eragon felt uncomfortable. This also amused him ever so slightly considering how foreign the sword had felt for so long when he had first received it. Yet, after wielding it in battle, he wished for it by his side if only to feel the comforting weight.

The blue sky was hidden by thick branches and, while he maintained a slight connection with Saphira that allowed him to listen to her lessons with Glaedr, he still felt vulnerable. The trees grew close together in this part of the forest and the moss was so thick that he sometimes sunk up to his ankles in it. Something, he observed, that the light-footed elf did not. In fact Oromis did not so rustle a single leaf or leave a faint footprint on the soft ground. Once more the differences between elf and human were striking to him and he could not help but think how useful these skills would be when he had hunted for his family so long ago.

Oromis stopped and pointed to a white stump with a flat, polished top three yards across that rested in the center of a small open clearing where a shaft of unbroken sunlight fell across it. "Sit here," said Oromis and, quick to obey, Eragon did as he was told. "Cross your legs and close your eyes." The world went dark around him and he instantly heightened his mind in an effort to keep track of what was around him at the very least. From his right, Oromis whispered, "Open your mind and listen. Listen to the world around you from the trees to the ants to the worms in the ground. Listen until you can hear them all and can understand them. Then come and find me."

The forest suddenly went quite and Eragon was left feeling rather foolish as he sat there, on a stump in the middle of a forest. Stretching his mind out around him, Eragon found the familiar buzz of many minds and consciousness. It was a little like looking out over a black night and seeing the lights of a large and prosperous city. Many, over three quarters in fact, were the minds of insects; something that intrigued Eragon for he had never realized just how many species of insects there were in a single, small clearing.

The longer he sat there the more he considered just why he was there as, it seemed to him, a logical way to confront the task set before him. Perhaps Oromis wished him to be able to concentrate on nothing so that he could sense all? It was an interesting concept that Eragon could think of many uses for from the battle field to just observing the natural world. The only problem was how vulnerable he felt just opening his mind to the world around him. He hated the feeling of just losing control, of being swept away by the moment and into all the disparate minds around him. In fact it frightened him more than he liked to admit and it went against all the instincts that battle had honed. He had worked on isolating himself, on defending himself from the entire world.

To be a part of everything and yet nothing, required, he decided, a balance between his own mind and all the ones he touched. If he lost that balance he would panic but if he could achieve it then he would be able to touch everything and not just one cluster. He could be caught by one thing and study it for hours he quickly realized if he did not try to broaden his view field and yet remain unattached to all around him.

So, feeling like a very bad student but not able to do as he had been asked completely, he sunk deeper into his mind without lowering his shields and tried to observe the world from that perspective. It was like a hard glass wall around his mind that allowed him to see all the flickering lights of living things from the plants to the insects without feeling unprotected. Saphira was also a part of this observing – she was currently being lectured on wind drafts by Glaedr and Eragon listened to the lecture without lowering his attention from his own surroundings finding it interesting and wanting to know that she was well.

Slowly, so slowly, he found it easier to sit quietly and not maintain the rock hard barriers he had erected before Farthen Dur. He slowed his thoughts and intake of air as he did his best to let go of any stray thoughts or emotions that would cloud his mind. His mind was empty and disconnected from everything around him. Slowly he began to reach past his glass walls and touch the minds around him lightly but still touch. For a few seconds he was able to exist in that nowhere place of seeing and listening. He sensed the worries of the animals gathering food as they tried to care for their young while protecting themselves. He sensed the slow patience of the trees as they stretched their roots deep into the ground and observed, in their own way, the world around them with a wisdom crafted from endless watching. From the busy nest of ants not far from his stump doing battle against a spider, the hardworking bumble bees flitting from flower to flower, the mouse deep in her burrow with her new babies, the squirrels hopping from branch to branch and all the other living things around him that glowed with vitality and purpose. Nothing in this clearing, he realized, was without purpose or desire. Everything was working together in a complicated mix of winning and then losing and then fighting again for the simple goal of living.

However, a few seconds was all he could manage before things overwhelmed him and he slipped back behind his barriers. Yet, he decided, it was better than nothing and he had come close to accomplishing what Oromis wanted. Perhaps later he would ask Zoe about it. He was certain she would be able to help him or at least listen to him as he tried to vocalize exactly what he had to do while sitting on this quiet stump.

Eragon opened his eyes and sighed before rising from the stump. The sun told him it was close to noon and that, by his estimate, he had spent two hours just observing this world from the shadowy darkness of his mind. It had been an interesting exercise in mental flexibility and he had no doubt he would repeat it until it was mastered. Before leaving the small clearing Eragon paused and looked around at it. It was a peaceful place, a quiet place on the outside but, as these two hours had showed him, the clearing was a bustling place. A little world of its own that he had intruded upon with both his body and his mind.

The young Rider found Oromis sitting in his small cottage at the table. Spread out in front of him were scrolls and the Rider seemed to be writing for he had a brightly colored feather quill in one hand and an open pot of ink in front of him along with a sheet of thick creamy colored paper. Already he had covered half of the page with his bold yet flowing script.

"You have returned," said the elf glancing at him quickly.

"Yes," said Eragon as he took the empty seat. The scrolls in front of him were beautiful pieces of art in their own right with flowering vines, scrollwork and animals decorating their borders. Each letter was perfectly formed and created for easy reading.

"What did you learn?" asked Oromis as he scratched away with his quill.

"I am not sure," said Eragon honestly and he explained what he had seen and accomplished for a few seconds. He ended with his observation of the clearing, "if I learned nothing else it is that there is a great deal I cannot see but can with my mind. I realized how oblivious I was to the little things in this world."

Oromis nodded, "You will do it everyday until you can see without looking, feel without touching and be a part while being independent." The elf set his quill down, "However it was a good attempt on your part and I congratulate you on even accomplishing a few seconds of such a state of mind. Even elves have a hard time achieving it and humans rarely do. Your observations are also interesting – I am sure you will deepen them as you continue with this task."

Eragon nodded and turned his attention back to the scrolls before him. His fingers itched to pick them up and examine them. He wanted to read what secrets and tales they contained with those inky letters and trailing borders. Since learning to read in both the common tongue and Ancient Language he had found himself in a new world – this one created with ink, paper and the imagination of authors.

His eagerness did not go unnoticed by Oromis who chuckled slightly, "A reader you must be Eragon. For only a reader would look as you do now."

Eragon ducked his head in embarrassment, "A healthy respect for books has been cultivated within me by Zoe and Brom. I now enjoy losing myself in their words."

Oromis smiled slightly and gestured at the many scrolls that lined the walls of his cottage. "As do I but now it is time for another part of your education. You have shown me that you have a very solid understanding of the language we currently speak but, if you wish to be a strong spell weaver, then you must increase your mastery over it. Mastery over the Ancient Language will allow you to refine your spells and the conversations you have with members of my race."

With that the elf began to educate Eragon in the niceties of writing in the Ancient Language. As he did the elf introduced him to new words, the finer points of grammar that Brom had not told him of and many other such things that would increase Eragon's control on over both the language and his magic. He had a good grasp already and that had allowed him to converse in it exclusively since arriving in Ellesmera but, he discovered, his knowledge was just a foundation. His ability to write in it, for example, was not as developed and Oromis set him to remedying it as well as his pronunciation of complex words. For, as Oromis pointed out, a slurred word could result in a far different spell then the one Eragon had in mind.

The quiet work was relaxing and Eragon found himself enjoying the chance to practice such skills like he had not been able to since those early days with Zoe and Brom. The way words fit together and worked was a tricky business and Oromis a demanding instructor. Every mistake, no matter how small, was caught and rectified, then repeated until he could accomplish the task without hesitation.

As he worked he was distantly aware of Saphira, still working with Glaedr, and the lessons she received from him though he found it difficultly to concentrate on both his own work and her activities. He had never had to do it before and yet, remembering a distant reminder of Brom's given before he left Farthen Dur, he did his best. Brom had explained a little that he had to maintain contact with Saphira at all times and that, if he had been trained before the Fall, it would have been expected from the very first day. Again, like that morning, the task of keeping his own focus in two different areas taxed him and yet the necessity of it for battle or simple communication outweighed his desire to take the easier path and just focus on his own world like he had done for most of their relationship.

It frightened him a little to think of how all this training, all his work, was going towards keeping both him and Saphira alive in battle. He was training so he would be a formidable Rider not only on the political or diplomatic field but the battle field. Every thing he did had a purpose and, it might, be what kept him alive in the coming events. Those coming dark days hung above him as he worked in the warm little cottage so far removed from the real world. The distant warning of 'Would he be able to fight?' was a dark cloud which pursued him since he had first experienced the weight of Durza's curse. He tried not too think on it too hard.

Finally, as the sun dipped to the horizon, Oromis held out a hand and Eragon stopped scratching away with his quill. "That is enough," said the Rider. "You have completed your work for today."

Eragon leaned back in his chair and stretched his stiff, tired muscles. His hand had cramped many a time and he did his best to work out the lingering pain and stiffness as he sat quietly for a few seconds before rising and walking to the door. He could feel Saphira getting closer and knew it would be a matter of minutes before she swooped down accompanied by Glaedr.

Sure enough she did and landed as gracefully as a dragon can ever land – with a little bit of earth shaking and great buffets of wings. _Little one, _she greeted warmly her eyes seeping over him to confirm that what she had felt and heard from him that day was true. Since his injury at the hands of Durza Saphira had become even more attentive to him and the new reality that was Eragon had to be careful of how much he did and what he did. He careful watching had disappeared, however, the previous day for obvious reasons and it had even been difficult for the young rider to communicate with her – something that had both troubled and hurt him.

_Saphira, _he greeted, _your lessons sounded interesting. _

_They were, _she confirmed, _as were yours. _

_Yes, _he said, _though the road of learning is a long one. _She snorted with amusement and, then, their conversation was interrupted by Oromis who had stopped to greet Gleadr in turn.

"What is the correct conjugation of subjective verbs Saphira?" asked the elf as he fixed his silver gaze on the blue dragoness.

It was such a surprising question that Saphira did not know what to say for a few seconds before quickly seizing on the bits of information she had gleamed from Eragon's lessons that afternoon like a sailor grasping for a life float as his ship sunk. Her answer was maybe not as complete as it might have been but it was an answer and it did include the three iron hard rules that Eragon had memorized that day.

Just as Oromis had turned to Saphira, Glaedr turned to Eragon. _What, _asked the dragon, _is the correct way of negotiating updrafts without being carried too far skyward?_

Eragon considered what he had heard of Saphira's lessons before answering as best he could. He had not heard all of her lesson but he had enough to do a passable job. This questioning continued for the next few minutes until Oromis said, "While I am pleased that you are able to answer I do want you both to increase your connection while maintaining focus on your own tasks."

"Yes ebrithil," echoed both Rider and dragon. Their two voices melding a strange mixture of human and dragon.

Farewells were exchanged then, a pile of scrolls chosen by Oromis for Eragon's continued learning, were deposited in the young Rider's arms and then both Eragon and Saphira flew back to their tree house. As they flew the two relaxed every barrier between their two minds and let the connection expand until they were indistinguishable from each other. Beneath them the emerald green of the forest spread out.

Finally, Eragon asked,_ The lessons with Gleadr went well?_

_Yes, _Saphira said in response_, I find it easier now that the surprise and wonder of seeing another dragon has eased a little. He is a most excellent instructor. _

_I am glad, _said Eragon quietly and, then, unable to hold it back he continued, _I missed having you by my side yesterday. _He almost wanted to take his words back but at the same he did not. He would need her and she needed him just as much. The experience of being ignored by his partner of heart and mind had hurt him more than he had thought it would.

His gentle accusation, while given as gently as he could, did not go unnoticed nor unremarked upon. _I am sorry, _she said with a wave of remorse, _and, while I know you understand and felt what I felt, it was wrong of me to leave you with the soul responsibility of our story nor offer any other support when you needed it as much as I did. In my joy and relief I forgot my responsibilities to Zoe and to you as joined Rider and dragon. _

_Let us leave it behind, _said Eragon firmly, _to see you happy and free of that burden was a welcome thing Saphira and I do not regret it in the slightest. But, from now on, we will act as one?_

_Yes. _she said firmly and without a trace of hesitation. _No matter what. _

He smiled; he did not need the Ancient Language to know that she meant her words or that she would not be there no matter what occurred around them again. Sending her a wave of warm gratitude and love the two began to descend to their tree house that was located near the centre of the forest city.

The tree house had once belonged to Vrael and now to Eragon where, for the next few months, he would live and study. It seemed so strange to be in the same apartments as the famed leader of his order. He found the idea of sleeping in the same bed, looking out the same portal and using the same desk not only rather awe-inspiring but also rather chilling. Vrael was dead. Now Eragon took his place and looked to defeat a man that not even the elf Rider of old could defeat.

_Will you hunt today? _He asked Saphira as he deposited the scrolls on the bed.

_No, _said the dragon. _I will not. _

Eragon nodded and opened the door that led to the twirling staircase which led from the top of the flet to the ground far below. Two things, to his surprise, where waiting for him. One was a tray of food, all beautifully arrayed with a warm spinach pie, cheese, bread, tea and some delicate looking white cookies. The second thing was even more welcome than food: Zoe. She had her hand raised just about to knock and, when she saw him, she smiled widely before launching forward and embracing him tightly.

He laughed and hugged her back. "Hello Zoe," he said as he slipped back into Common from the formal elvish language. It was a comfort in a way to speak the language he had known since birth with another human. Among all the strange and new things around him – this was one constant and he welcomed it.

"Eragon!" she said as she drew back. She opened her eyes wide in mock surprise, "You are still alive?"

"Of course," he said with a small laugh, "I am not as hopeless as you might believe!"

Zoe arched an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips, "I am sure that is because of Saphira. She keeps you from running around like a chicken without its head." Saphira chuckled from behind him at the words – a familiar line from Zoe when she wished to tease him like a sister might tease a brother.

"Will you come in?" he asked hopefully.

"Not if you have homework to do," she said with a small smirk. "Studying a sacred time and cannot be interrupted by the likes of me."

"I have some scrolls to read but," trying to adopt a pleading expression he continued, "please spend a little time with Saphira and I."

"Puppy dog eyes have no hold over me," she said with an amused laugh as she stepped inside. Eragon lifted the tray and brought inside before closing the door while Zoe walked over to Saphira who she greeted warmly.

It was then, to Eragon's surprise, that he realized Zoe was not dressed in the familiar clothes she normally wore and, as she stood in a shaft of fading sunlight, he realized he had never seen her wearing a dress nor had he ever seen her with her hair completely unfettered by bands or braids. Suddenly she was not the girl he knew and it struck him as strange that different clothes could change someone he called 'friend' so much. For Zoe was wearing a blue dress with golden scroll work on the hem and elbow length sleeves which were created from some sort of sheer blue fabric. A thin braided belt of gold went around her waist and her dark hair tumbled loose down her back. She still carried her bow, quiver and horn but that was the only part of her that he recognized. There was no sword at her hip, no padded leather clothing covering her slim form and her hands were immaculate with not a trace of grime. Suddenly she was a woman and he was totally unable to think of something – anything – to say. Something which Saphira found endlessly amusing.

"What?" she asked with an amused smile.

"You look like a girl," said Eragon without thinking.

Zoe sent him a withering glare, "You mean you just noticed?" she snapped acidly. "After all this time and you just managed to realize that I am a girl?!" Her voice rose slightly and he found himself quailing at the look on her face. A look that he was not sure was true and justifiable outrage or just mock outrage. He choose to play it safe.

"Well no," stuttered Eragon as he desperately tried to pull himself from the hole he had just dug. Saphira meanwhile was laughing in her own dragon-ly way from the safety of her cushioned nest. "I don't mean it like that I just mean that you look nice. Really nice actually…in a good way of course!"

Zoe obviously did not fall for it, "I am allowed to wear a dress once in a while Eragon." Her glare faded and she shook her head at him. "And here I thought we had actually taught you how be eloquent and use flattery to your advantage." Smirking at him, she said the next word slowly and with more than a little teasing laughter, "Ob-vi-ou-s-ly not." Then, as only Zoe could, she flipped the subject around and gestured at the scrolls piled on his bed. "How has it been?"

Grateful for the change of subject and his apparent forgiveness, he set the tray down on the small table next to the bed and shrugged. "Good I suppose." He told her of his experiences that day and she listened quietly from the seat she had taken next to Saphira's front leg.

"It sounds like it is going well then," she said with a smile. "You cannot learn everything all at once Eragon, it takes time. The meditation takes time and discipline to complete successfully for any length of time."

"I know," he said. Wanting to change the subject he asked, "How has it been for you?"

She sighed heavily, "I met with Islanzardi, Oromis, Arya and an elf lord by the name of Deathdr last night. They wished to confirm that I was truly on this side of the war and not caught half-way one way or, even worse, on the opposite."

"What did you say?"

"What could I say?" she said quietly. "I did not tell them that I knew the future. I hinted at it but never outright said it to them. I told them a little of my past but nothing of Earth or what I did there." Zoe rubbed one of Saphira's scales for a moment before continuing, "I had to give them a little or else they would never trust me with anything important. So I told them enough to keep them happy – at least for now. They know of my title and position in the way of things but precious little else of my past."

She shrugged and Eragon sensed that it was a topic she did not want to elaborate on. Not that he blamed her – her past and her future were so hopelessly complicated that he had given up on trying to know everything about her and stuck with the little he knew about her from their travels and experiences. One moment she said she was from one world – and one world was bad enough – the next she said she was from another and then…it just got too complicated for him to follow. He wanted to keep his world carefully ordered and not think about a couple billion more just out of reach and sight. Nor did he want to think that he was also related to their fate and that, if he failed, then he doomed them and their inhabitants. Looking at the tray he asked, "Want to have something to eat?"

"Depends on what you are offering," she said with a small smile. "If it has kale in it then no."

"Kale?" asked Eragon confused by the word. It was another one of those moments when Zoe slipped back into her other world words or, as she called them, 'English-isms' and left him wishing for a dictionary.

"Yup," said Zoe rising and walking over to examine the tray. "It is a little like spinach but infinitely worse tasting and far too green." She was silent for a moment as she inspected the food, "no kale. I'm safe but there are some very tasty looking cookies."

She picked up a piece of bread and raised an eyebrow at the look of surprised amusement on Eragon's face. "What?" she asked innocently. "A girl is allowed to picky." Her emphases on 'girl' made the young Rider blush slightly as he also took a piece of bread and choose to keep silent rather then risk annoying his friend anymore than he had already.

"Want to show me your reading?" asked Zoe as she settled on the bed close to the five or so scrolls.

"Only if you want," said Eragon though he was looking forward to reading them and he was sure that Zoe was itching to get her hands on some, as she called it, fodder for the imagination. With that the two of them, along with Saphira, spent until dark examining and discussing the five pieces of reading. By the time Zoe rose to leave, Eragon felt he was only just get started and he half-wished they could continue the conversation which ranged from elvish customs to the history of the Blodering Kingdom.

"I shall see you tomorrow," said his friend with a wink.

"Yes," said Eragon as he rose to stand beside her.

Zoe looked to Saphira and the two, speaking only to each other and excluding Eragon, as they exchanged their farewells. It was just as Zoe was leaving the room that she turned and met Eragon's gaze, "Eragon," she said with a small smile. "If you need a sparring partner then let me know. You should start to practice again."

"What?" he asked unable to keep the nerves from his voice, remembering as he did so, the last few times he had tried to wield the red sword.

"You will not know your limits if you never test them."

"But," began Eragon but Zoe raised an eyebrow and he stopped himself aware that it sounded an awful like he was whining and complaining about something that whining/complaining could not/would not change. "I would be glad to spar with you again," he rephrased.

Zoe nodded and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder in a sisterly way. "Have a little hope Eragon. There is always a solution even if it is not obvious. You have not suffered another attack for quite a long time."

"You are right," he said heavily. "One way or another I must overcome this."

She smiled sadly and embraced him as a sister might embrace a younger sibling who needed comfort. "I will see you tomorrow as well as Oromis."

"Oromis?" asked Eragon distracted from his dark thoughts by this surprising revelation. "I would have thought you would avoid him and everyone else in general in favor of protecting your past."

She shook her head, "I explained enough that I am comfortable discussing certain, not everything, but some things. He asked me to come to the Craigs of Tel'nar to tell him of my homeland. I think he is just curious to learn more about a world of men that is so different and yet similar. It seemed such a small request to ask that I could not refuse."

"I see," said Eragon. "I wish I could be there," he smiled slightly, "I have heard next to nothing about your home."

She laughed lightly, "I will tell you about it one day soon. Suffice to say that tomorrow I have a social engagement and I know Arya was hoping to show both you and Saphira around Ellesmera."

"She what?" asked Eragon surprised.

"Yes," said Zoe, "I saw her briefly this morning and she expressed a wish to show you some of the wonders hidden in this city before you left. It will be good for the pair of you and I will be there as well."

Eragon nodded and wondered, secretly, at the notion that Arya would want to spend time with him and Saphira in such a way even if Zoe was accompanying them. However, if she did offer to show them around, he would not refuse. He did not feel comfortable exploring on his own lest he do or say something wrong and it would be a welcome break from the relentless training he was embarking on.

"Alright then," said Zoe with a cheerful smile, "I really should be going."

"Good night Zoe," said Eragon as she slipped out the door. Zoe sent him a smile in return and then vanished down the stairs.

The young Rider walked to the open tear drop window and looked out to the dark tree tops and starry night sky. _Our first day of training, _he said to Saphira.

_But not our last little one, _she said with a hint of amusement.

Turning he ignored the bed and, instead, slipped underneath her blue wing comforted by her presence and warmth.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hello! Yes another chapter. Hope it is not too dull - I guess it must seem rather fillerish and I am sorry about that. I actually just needed to get writing again because, after the last chapter, it felt like I had reached a bit of a peak and I was not sure how to continue. Anyways - I think I have overcome my block and I also found some time to write! Yippee! I promise more action and - of course - more Zoe in the next one as well as some Runon...<strong>_

_**Some replies to my amazing and incredible reviewers:**_

_**Booklover0608: I wrote ten different flashbacks and those were the best ones I felt I had. I do agree - I think the next flashbacks will have a different meaning and centre to them. I don't want to become repetitive and boring with my characters because that is no fun for readers or authors. :) Thank you for your review! **_

_**srade9779: Thank you for sticking with this story! It has been quite a work in progress! ;) I am glad you liked the last chapter which was definitly the hardest one of all to write. I think that one could be rewritten a thousand times in many different ways and everyone has their own way of looking at it. Once again - thank you! **_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer: WoW! Thank you for that review! I hope that you enjoy the next part of the story!**_

_**CarminaxBuranax: Thank you for pointing out that mistake - yikes I will have to go back and fix it. I hope that you enjoy the story and that, because I am terrified of it, that you feel that Zoe stays out of Mary-Sue land. Thank you for your advice! :) **_

_**MickygLovesEverything-one - Yes the names are very similar and it is on purpose. Zoe's past is a mix of a number of different stories including the Chronicles of Prydain and the Narnia books. I came up with it long before this fic and, on a spur of the moment whim, decided to put it in here. I thought it would help make this story original - after all everyone may already know Eragon's story but they don't know Zoes. Thank you for your reviews and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :) **_

_**KitKat: Thank you :) I really had so many ideas of how to write that chapter - it was that kind of moment in the story when there were too many ideas and I did not want to mess up! I am sooo happy you liked it and I hope this one measures up though it is a bit of a filler. ;)**_

_**14athomas: Thank you! :) I am glad that you enjoyed the Zoe/Oromis scene. It was such a challenge but definitly worth it! :) once more - thank you for all your suggestions and encouraging reviews! **_

_**Leopardsky: Do you know you are the first person to actually comment on that? I am glad someone picked up that little bit of flashback into Zoe's past and previous relationships! However, just for the record, I plan on Murtagh getting a far better ending then what he did get. The poor guy really just had it rough from start to finish. Thank you for the reviews and I hope you like this chapter! :)**_

_**Chris: I have thought about bringing someone in from Zoe's world. It might happen - I am not totally sure at this point. If it does it would probably be after the Battle of the Burning Plains but that is not set in stone. As for Orik - he will still play a major and important role. Never fear - he just didn't get to go to Du Weldenvarden but he will be at the Battle of the Burning Plains ect. As for Zoe's true name...that is a good idea and she might actually have to do it...hmmm...my author senses are excited! :) Thank you for your reviews/suggestions and just taking the time to read this story! :) **_


	43. Dreams and Elvish Smiths

Hello there reader, nice to see you again. Hope everything has been going well for you - nothing too crazy, too unexpected, too silly or ridiculous to throw a ringer in your carefully laid life. Or do you have a carefully planned out life? I think everyone likes a little structure but, if that structure smothers you, it can be hard not to rebel and tear it all apart. Sometimes tearing it all away lets us see the world and explore things we never thought to explore and, sometimes, it frightens us and we start wishing we could go back to the rules and routine of our old life.

Someone who was very wise and experienced once told me that the key to happiness was 'adaptability.' With my short years of life I have come to think that they are both right and wrong. We have to adapt and change to the world around us or else we will always be angry that nothing works out the way we want but, this is the catch, you have to have something out in front of you. Some sort of dream, of goal, right out that there that you are pursuing. You can adapt and change that goal but you are never without purpose or dreams. Sometimes we need to be stubborn, angry and determined to reach that goal but, like that person said, we still have to be adaptable. It is such a fine line to walk sometimes.

Make any sense? This is my little life chat - it must be something about this forest making me say these things to you. I feel timeless here as if I am on a hidden island and everything is flowing around me including time. It is hard to keep track of everything - which is why I like having you around. You make me remember my purpose and keep me going. You want action, drama, romance and epic battle scenes in which the fate of worlds is fought for. You want mystery, betrayal and suspense. Fair enough after all that is what you signed up for - why you stopped and took a look at my little adventure. You don't want to be lectured; you don't have time to read a five paragraph description of the bright blue flowering vine that trails up my bedroom window. You look at your watch, tap it and start giving me that look that says 'Well? Hurry up! I do not have all day! Action!' You do not want to read a story where everyone is falling in and out of love every five seconds. You don't want some people to die or suffer and yet you still want tragedy, sacrifice, inspiring courage and plenty of action.

Sorry - I just had to remind you that it is a tall order you have set before me. I am only human after all and, for the record, these are the things I do not do well: I do not like blowing buildings up right and left because I feel that is a waste of building materials. I do not do a seemingly impossible kick-boxing move because I think I would break something and a sword is far more effective in most of the situations I find myself in. As for love – I think you know how complicated that is for me.

So there. Just sayin what I am NOT good at in case you had your hopes set on unrealistic things. On the hand I think I fairly capable in some departments and, because no one is perfect, I might never achieve total perfection in every single story-book hero category.

Just realized that sounds an awful lot like the disclaimer I forgot to give you when we first met crossed with a bit of whining thrown in to. Mmm...maybe we should just move on and get back into the story. Ready. Set. Jump!

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><p><em>I was in an enormous room filled with light from windows high up on the walls near the white domed ceiling. On the wall that faced north, glass paneled opened onto a balcony that overlooked a wide strip of white sand far below. Beyond the beach was the ocean, and behind the shimmering blue of the ocean was the bright blue sky with not a single cloud. Have you ever seen the ocean? I love it. Perhaps it is my mother's heritage coming out in me. <em>

_Inside the room, opposite the glass doors were carved wooden ones that were firmly closed. Between the two sets of doors were shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls. Packets of paper, loose pages and drawings were stored here like a treasure trove awaiting eager fingers and curious minds. The wood of the bookcases was a warm honey color and, spaced out at regular intervals on the soft carpeted floor, were tables with waiting ink, quills and paper. Many scrolls and books were stacked in precarious piles on the tables like mountains of forgotten information, dates, people and ideas. Graceful, almost delicate, carved columns rose from the floor and rose to the vaulted ceiling like slender trees. Dust motes swirled in the shafts of warm sunlight that streamed inside. Quiet. Peaceful. Everything that I remembered about this place.. _

_I moved forward. My dream- self made no noise here and I came to a stop in front of the balcony doors. This was my mother's childhood home. This was where the noble and ancient family of Llyr had lived for generations upon generations of noble lords, strong warriors and, most famously of all, powerful enchantresses. My mother's people were one of the most respected of the seven high houses that had united under the High King of Angard. The House of Llyr ruled over the land along the western sea and over many little kings and lords who dotted the coast with their small kingdoms and holdings. They in turn looked to the High King as the highest of all powers. _

_Caer Calldren as it was called was an old castle and it was an old castle right beside the sea and, so, many of its walls bore marks of violent tempests and sea spray. A small, but important, trading city lay in the next cove over beside the large river which flowed all the way from the mountains to the sea. The castle was filled with many wondrous things. I had often come here to visit my grandparent's during my childhood and then, when they passed on, to visit my cousin who took the lead along with his young wife who was a close friend of mine. Many happy memories lay here because, during the hot summers, my mother had brought us all here to escape Caer Daythl and its smelly city. On the rare occasion my father had even forsaken his duties as High King to join us. _

_ Yet why was I here? Why had my mind taken me here of all places? What purpose did this serve? These dreams have always had a purpose or some connotation to the waking world I was currently in. My hand ran along the golden knob of the closed balcony day. I could feel the warmth of the sun and, outside, a wind was whipping the foam on the waves as they crashed never endingly on the sandy shore. The door handle was solid beneath my fingers and I knew insictivly that, if I wanted to, I would be able to turn it and step outside onto the balcony. If I did step outside I might even feel the warmth of the sun and the wind in my hair as it tangled it. _

_I half wondered when this dream would end and I wished it wouldn' any time soon. It was nice here – a comforting familariness that eased the tight knot of homesickness that was steadily growing the more I remembered and learned. This did not feel like a dream either but rather as if I was actually here and not living in one of my memories. _

_ I left the doors and walked to one of the bookshelves and, at random, I pulled a book from the shelf. It was heavy in my arms and dusty to, but comfortingly familiar as if I had drawn it from the shelf and let it fall open in my arms many, many times before. I placed it gently on a table and opened the heavy, leather bound cover to show thick, creamy colored pages but no words. Nothing. Not even a single ink stain. My fingers flicked through the pages but, like before, not a single word. _

_I returned to the first page confused by this dream and this strangely familiar book where nothing was recorded. It was then, to my surprise, that I saw two, carefully written words at the top of the page where, only moments before, there had been nothing. 'Your story,' they read and, below them, was nothing. Just that. Those two words ran through my head. Beside my right hand was a crystal ink well with a waiting quill. I picked it up, marveling at how real this all felt, and unscrewed the ink well before dipping the quill into the waiting black liquid. _

_Thinking for a moment I wrote, just below the two words, 'My story is still being written.' I put the quill down and stared blankly the glistening new words. Then, I signed my name and date. After a brief moment of thought I added one more thing – Alagaesia. _

_I stepped away and screwed the lid back on the ink well and cleaned the quill. If I ever came back to this place maybe I would write more. Maybe I would write everything down as I have spoken it to you. If I ever did come back. Dreams are strange that way – what had brought me here was unlikely to happen again. Who knew why everything in this dream had happened this way. _

_The dream was beginning to fade. The colors losing their intensity, the sensations fading as this world slipped away from me. After all – everything, the good and the bad, must end and this dream was no different. _

I woke in my bedroom back in Du Weldenvarden with a strange mix of homesickness, puzzlement and the urge that I had not done something or left too soon. It unsettled me and, while it made me want to do something and soon, there was nothing I could do. I gazed up at the white ceiling of my room and tried to thing of a logical reason for why I felt this way – none came. There was nothing logical about my dream and, so, no amount of logic was going to ease the feeling I had.

It was at least an hour before dawn but I could not just go back to sleep and so I left my bed and prepared for the day. I would be a busy girl today. Oromis had sent a missive the previous night that he would enjoy talking with me later that evening and Arya had also asked me to accompany her to meet an old friend that morning. She had been running at the time and so I had not been able to ask just what friend she wanted to introduce me to but, I suspected, that it was a certain elven smith. My spidey-senses were pointing me in that direction. Eragon may also have the pleasure of meeting Runon later that night while I was closeted away with Oromis. Or maybe not if the smith was as famously anti-social as she had been in the book. I had the feeling one to many visitors might result in something rather nasty.

I know you – yes I mean you! - were hanging out with Eragon last night when I visited him and so you also got to be witness to me in a dress. For the record: I do love dresses especially dresses that are comfortable and, in certain places and circumstances, I would rather wear a killer dress than be armed to the teeth. The elves had provided me with more than one of their loose fitting but still elegant dresses. The fabric was soft and, if the dresses did have sleeves, they were often created out of sheer, nearly transparent, fabric. I felt like some sort of pretend fairy in them to be honest and, as I got used to being in a long skirt again, I worried constantly that I would trip and tear it all to pieces which would be frighteningly embarrassing to say the least.

Out of the dresses I had been gifted by the elves many were adorned with a belt and, unlike many human dresses, they had been fitted for someone who had little-to-no chest and was as narrow, as my old friends on Earth had said, as a broom handle. In other words they fitted me which, after some rather unfortunate experiences with ill-fitting dresses, was a welcome thing. Snigger away dear reader I am not listening.

I did not choose a dress for that day however. I wanted my old, familiar and recently repaired travelling clothes. Maybe as a sort of reminder of where I came from and what kind of person I really was. Fine dresses and jewels have never held me for long even if I do, as much as the next person, enjoy wearing them for a little while. They had also been part of the drill, if you will, of being the daughter of the High King. I had become desensitized to wealth, splendor and pomp after years of it. It no longer sent my eyes glittering or made me feel like I was the most special person in the world to be considered worthy of it all.

I left my room a little while later. Wandering the halls of Tildari Hall I admired the craftsmanship that had gone into making this place. Everything, down to the finest details, had been paid the utmost of attention. The swirling patterns in the wood, the color of the marble, the elegant columns and all the balconies that lined the corridors were perfectly designed so that they complimented each other.

It must have been because of my dream because that day the homesickness was the worst it had been for a long time. My heart ached with the pain of enforced separation from the things I knew and loved.

My wanderings led me back to my room where I spent a little time reading. Rina, the maid assigned to me, had already been and left a tray of fruit, two slices of soft bread and tea. I had met her the previous night and we were well on our way to developing an easy friendship that I looked forward to. Maids are often the best, and I mean this in the best way, source of information. One can learn more from them in a single conversation then you could possibly guess and, to my joy, Rina was no different. She even seemed to have a sense of humor – alright it is a bit hard to find but I am sure that I did see glimpses of it.

Before long a quiet knock came at the door and I left the book on the table to open it. Standing there was Arya. The elf had changed over the past few days. Her smile was still rare but now it seemed to touch her hard emerald eyes where, before, it had only been a superficial mask. Now, instead of her travelling clothes, she dressed in dresses that were fitting for an elf of her station. I could not help but wonder if her mother had had some say in what Arya wore during her time here. My mother had played such a role in my life and made sure that I met the standards set by thousands of years of rule by my at least she had attempted to whenever she had managed to get me at court long enough for me to require dress fittings and the like.

Arya, still young by the standards of her people, had changed these last few days and I hoped that it was a lasting one that ran deep and helped to ease the bitterness which had clouded her heart and the relationships she formed with those around her. We may be friends – allies to the end – but I did not really know Arya nor did she know me. We had a relationship founded on mutual agreement and the overwhelming need for an ally that understood the precarious situation of rank and title, the effects of past experiences and, probably most important of all, what it meant to be a female in a world dominated by men. Yet the best ways to comfort each other or offer support, the things that take time to find out, were still out of reach.

"Zoe," said Arya with a faint smile.

"Arya," I returned and gestured at the pale green dress she was wearing, "nice dress."

The elf actually colored a little and dropped her eyes slightly as if she was actually embarrassed to be complimented about something other than her sword work or spell weaving. Such a compliment was so common in my world that I had long grown used to just accepting it and then delivering my own – such was the way of such a 'girl' type of conversation. Arya did manage to say a quick 'thank-you' before she rapidly changed the subject as if worried I would pursue wardrobe topics – something that amused me to no end. "Will you come with me? I have someone I want you to meet. Bring your sword to."

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing as I belted my sword on and followed her away from my appartements. "Who?" I quiered as she led me down the many staircases and through the twisting corridors from which rooms and gardens branched off.

"An old friend," said Arya without looking at me, "I am sure you already know of her."

"Rhunon?" I asked.

"Yes," said Arya, "I think it would be best if you become familiar with my people. That will allow you to better influence the coming events. Besides," the elf smiled slightly, "I think you will enjoy her company and she yours."

I said nothing more and stayed close to Arya as we left the palace and entered the wide, grassy 'street' and began to encounter more elves. They all made some form of greeting and many Arya acknowledge with their first name instead of a more formal and vague "Lord" or "Lady." I suspected this was mostly for my benefit as well as friendship's sake. She took the time to introduce me to them as well and I found myself endlessly repeating the same greeting over and over. The formulaic phrases, spoken in the Ancient Language, came easily to me and so I moved beside Arya not shyly or with any kind of apparent hesitation. I was pretending to be comfortable here without being pretentious or overly quiet – hitting the right balance between everything. Really, in the end, the elves I was introduced to wanted to know both who I was and what I represented as both an ambassador and a signal of coming war. I could do that – I had done it many times before and this was no different.

However, as important as this 'meet and greet' was on many levels it did prevent us from moving very quickly towards the forge where Rhunon, the great elf smith, toiled alone. When we did reach the place, or the tree really, Arya stopped me in front of a long, double isle of trees. The tunnel was made of dogwood draped with creepers and no sunlight lit the soft, moss covered ground.

"Rhunon is blunt," she cautioned me, "and she will challenge you on many things even if you are not aware of it."

"I know," I said calmly, "I know what she is like. I think I will enjoy the challenge." I looked down the tunnel but could not catch sight of what lay at it's end even if I could already smell the smoke from the forge.

"Come then," said Arya gesturing me forwards.

With that I made my way towards the forge of an elf smith who had lived for thousands and thousands of years. I felt like I left the world of Ellesmera, of regular elven life, as I walked beside Arya down the tunnel. The farther I walked the more timeless it all felt and, almost, as if I had stepped back into a long ago time when this world was different. As the tunnel opened I caught sight of an opened wall hut that was completely surrounded by a ring of trees that let nothing in. These living walls isolated the elf who labored here from not only the outside world of the city – of Alagaesia – but from time, fate or any kind of change. Here the skills she had perfected over millennia were kept safe.

An elf woman was bending over a forge that was sheltered along with an assortment of instruments in an open walled hut. She was unlike any elf I had yet met not only in appearance but in bearing. Her hair was a strange mix of red and black as if sparks from her forge had colored it and she was of heavier build with larger hands that lacked the refined, delicacy of her elven kindred. In fact, the more I studied her, the more I saw how mortal she seemed as if the changes which had so affected the elves had not had any influence over her. Rhunon was a remnant of a previous Age – no wonder she isolated herself from her people who she shared so little with.

I watched as the smith, armed with a small pair of tongs and bellows, worked over an incomplete mail corselet that hung over an anvil. To watch her work was like watching a great painter at work at their easel. Every movement was perfectly timed – nothing was wasted – as she used her superior strength and speed to create things of incredible corselet would be a fine piece of armor when it was finished for few dwarf or mortal smiths spend the time to rivite each link.

Arya stepped forward and greeted her. Her words made Rhunon pause for a moment as she glanced up and I saw her face fully for the first time. It was her eyes that caught my attention. Like Oromis her face was ageless – a timeless thing that could remain the same for the next Age but her eyes were different. A dark, storm cloud grey, they were like endless tunnels of knowledge, experience and memories both good and bad which demanded your attention. I felt as if I was trapped by the force of her gaze and, luckily, she broke it because I did not have the strength to look away. Without even bothering to respond to Arya, she returned to her forge as if were annoying little flies she did not have the time for. A rude elf – what a concept reader.

"Rhunon-elda, I want to introduce you to Lady Zoe. She is the ambassador for both the Varden and the dwarves."

"I heard you were dead," came the flat response. Her voice grated on my ears like metal – nothing was smooth about it or musical but hard, sharp and, above all, irritated.

Arya, like a small child who has yet to learn that adults do not always want to see them, just smiled and continued. "If you left your house more often then you would have heard about my return."

Rhunon grunted in response and turned her gaze to me as she turned her attention from the Queen's daughter. Those grey eyes swept over me and then paused when she caught side of the slender, silver blade sheathed at my side. "Your sword is of unique make." Her sentences were short and right to the point – she was of course quite right. My blade was thin and slender; almost to the point that some had said it would not hold up to the abuse of everyday use.

Wordlessly I unsheathed it and offered it, hilt first, to the elf who set her tools down and took it gently, almost lovingly, as if the blade was not a battle weathered weapon but a delicate flower. "It has served me well," I said quietly as Rhunon turned it in her scarred yet skilled hands.

"What do the runes mean?" asked the smith. Beside me Arya remained quiet though I saw a glint of curiosity in her emerald eyes.

Stepping forward I gazed down at the runes etched into the smooth sword. When I had first seen them I had not known what they meant nor how the sword came to me. Now, of course, that knowledge had been returned to me. "They mean," I smiled as I remembered discovering the truth of it, "_To whatever end_" I spoke the words in the language that they were written in and then translated for the smith who had turned to look at me as I spoke.

"It is an old blade," said the smith, "it has seen much. Yet it bears little signs of it. No scratches, no dents or rust. That is not common in a mortal or even in an elvish blade."

"It was old when I was gifted it by my father." I paused and then decided to continue, "Its name is _Numir _and was crafted by a smith long ago whose skill was legendary. He created four blades similar to this one for my family and my two brothers' bear two of them. I received this one and the last was gifted to an old friend of my family." I smiled slightly as I watched the smith handle my blade.

Rhunon then hefted the blade and swung it around as a warrior might do to test the balance and feel. She frowned in concentration and then spun it once more before slamming it down against the anvil. I winced and felt a twinge of fear for my comrade in battle. The sword let loose a bell like ring that echoed through the trees a little like a hunting horn might when blown.

A smile suddenly grew across Rhunon's face as she gazed at the blade which showed no sign of damage or change after its trial. "A fine blade," she said appreciatively, "one of the finest I have ever handled."

I smiled and gratefully accepted it from her. "Thank you," I said as I slipped it back into the simple black sheath. A compliment for your sword could warm even the hardest of warrior's heart with a flush of pride for the silent, deadly comrade they used to ply the trade of battle.

The smith gazed at me with those discerning, piercing eyes and then turned back to look at her mail corslet. "Come back," she said quietly. "I think there is much you could tell me."  
>My eyebrows rose and I could not help but wonder if words had two meanings – of course they did. Rhunon did not waste words nor did she waste any energy on useless emotion. Yet I thought I might enjoy spending time here among the ringing metal and the harsh honesty of this elf. As Rhunon returned to her work on the mail corselet, Arya and I left silently our feet soft on the mossy ground. We walked tunnel of trees and back into Ellesmera – back to this other world.<p>

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><p>Lucia opened the door to the library of Caer Calldren. She had come for a brief stay to see her cousin and his new wife. Yet, she would soon return to Caer Dathyl and her two brothers as well as her own numerous duties and responsibilities. She could not stay away long and neither did she like leaving Eomund and Pethred with so much to do and, of course, the gaping hole left by Zoe's disappearance coming close to a year ago now. Lucia would do whatever it would take to keep the remains of her family together especially with this latest loss.<p>

Her heart grew heavy as she remembered her older sister. It hurt. It hurt more than she liked to admit to even her brothers. She knew she was not the only one affected by Zoe's absence. Everyone from the rangers who had served under her to their various living family members and all the citizens who loved their High King and his younger siblings missed her presence. Zoe's disappearance had sent wild rumors spreading across the land and it was difficult not believe the wildly held belief that Zoe was dead. How or why was for the imagination but Lucia could not accept it. Her family had been so badly broken and she would not let it shatter anymore – Zoe would not want that and, after all, she would come back. She had to come back. She would come back. After all, thought Lucia with a faint smile, this was Zoe. Eomund said she would and Eomund would not say something like that lightly.

Lucia's light blue dress swirled around her as she walked to the closed balcony doors. The view was stunning and she remembered how much her older sister had loved the ocean and the time spent here with their family. Zoe had truly been of Llyr, their mother's daughter, while Lucia had always taken after the Angard side of the family. She had little-to-no of the magic that filled her sister and, to some extent, Eomund. She did not even resemble her sister or brother with their dark hair and grey eyes. They had glowed in the moonlight all silver and cold like ice sculptures while both Lucia and Pethred had always been the sun, the golden light, to their calm silver.

The young woman turned away and looked around the spacious room. She loved books but books now reminded her of a lost sister and, besides, she had little time to read anything for pleasure. Just being in this room conjured memories for Lucia of happy summer days with her older sister reading her tales of far distant lands while her brother's played chess or looked over maps of long forgotten battles. Maybe, after what Eomund had told her, some of the far distant lands in all these story books were actually real worlds too far away to ever reach but through some strange magic. Her world felt as fragile as glass when she thought that way and so she turned her thoughts away from such an enormous, earth-shaking concept.

Moving to leave the library and the ghosts that seemed to haunt it, Lucia felt something within her stir. A faint hand on her shoulder, a warm presence, seemed to gently nudge her towards one of the tables. A shaft of light swirled as if someone had stepped through it and Lucia distantly wondered if she was actually alone here. It was a foolish thought – of course she was! – but there were many strange things in a place so filled with magic. She had grown up knowing that and she knew how to see power even if she could not use it. She knew what magic could do and she knew she lived in a world filled with it. This moment, alone here, she felt power and it seemed to her that it was a familiar power – something she knew as well as she knew her name. Not a dark or controlling power but strong and present one that spoke of glorious triumph, of family, of peace, of prosperity, of love and of hope. It was just there and growing fainter the longer she stood still until, with a shiver of air, it was gone leaving her feeling saddened as if she had missed something crucial.

Then she saw it. She saw what the power had been leading her towards as she followed it from the balcony to the shelves of books. A book was open on the nearest table – nothing unusual about that – but something drew Lucia to this one. It was a beautiful book with thick pages and a well bound cover. It was a book that Zoe would have cherished for its simple beauty and warm comfort that came with written words and neat pages.

Opening it Lucia scanned the first page and felt her heart stutter with shock at the carefully written words at the top of the blank page. One of her slender hands flew to her mouth as the other traced the words written in familiar script. The letters were made with a bold hand that spelled words that seemed impossible. Not only that but they were made with fresh ink – not yet completely dried – as if whoever had placed them there had just stepped away to find another book on one of the many shelves or, maybe, to show her what had been written.

A chill crept up Lucia as she gazed at those words and, most of all; at the name of sister she as trying to believe was still alive. She jerked her head up and scanned the room frantically as her heart pounded. Her bright blue eyes searched the shadows for a faint sign that her sister was there, had been there, even if that sign was just a swirl of dust or a faint footprint upon the carpeted floor. Was she here? Was Zoe actually here? Was she watching her right that second from behind one of the tall bookcases?

She knew they were written by Zoe. She knew what her sister's hand writing looked like and she believed it. Lucia believed – she had always had faith even when no one else had it. She had never given up hope and she would not give it up for anything in the world. Yet logic and reason spoke to her now for, if Eomund was to be believed, then her sister was far off in a far distant world fighting another war. How could she have come to this library and written these words?

Lucia looked back at them and then set her jaw in a way that only a child of Angard could – a look her brothers took often when preparing for battle and her eldest sister had often adopted when dealing with irate councilors. It was a look that Lucia had always adopted when she believed in something with all her heart despite everything that went against her. She did not care how it had happened. She did not need logistics, or complicated explanations or even concrete proof – she knew and that was enough. Somewhere, far away maybe, her sister had made her way to this room and left a message for her youngest sibling. Lucia believed it and her heart felt a little lighter as some of the dark doubts were sent back to the shadows. The words glinted on the page and that was enough – it would be enough until the sister who wrote them was standing in front of Lucia with a smile.

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><p><strong><em>Yes I am still alive...I know I am terrible about posting which is why you are getting this chapter this way. I wanted some more Eragon in there but he is going to have to wait until the next chapter and hang out with Murtagh. That chapter should come soon because I honestly just need to keep the momentum going at this point until I get to the next climax. I was beginning to feel if I didn't post this then I might not post until the next Ice Age. Oh and the meeting between ZoeOromis she mentioned above will also be in the next chapter ;) _**

**_Some replies to my amazing/awesome/fantastic reviewers:_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: What do I have against kale? I think it tastes like some weird underwater plant. However, I am willing to concede that it just may have been the recipe and that, when I was younger, I was a notoriously picky eater. I have been known to survive on nothing but peanut butter, granola bars and fruit while at horse shows. No joke. So maybe now that I am adventurous and do daring things that I would not have even gone near I should give kale another go. ;) I am glad you were okay with that fillerish thing. Not happy about it or this one to be honest but I am working through it otherwise I might just stop writing and that IS NOT HAPPENING. Thank you again! :) _**

**_Flames of Nocturne: A blue and white red striped wizard's hat! Oh that would be sooooo funny...maybe I should just write some silly story and use that...I do love the idea of Vivian joining Paper Mario and running about with a plumber. Think of the adventures :) hahaha yes epic is the word. Thank you sooooo much for your reviews - as always - they really are fantastic. _**

**_Also big thank you to everyone who has read/liked/favorited/followed this story! You guys really are amazing. _**


	44. Chapter 44

Eragon groaned softly as he sat down on the soft bed. A tray of food was balanced precariously on the pillow and he felt like each of his muscles was on protest. It was a distinctly unpleasant feeling. Gazing rather dispiritedly at the tray of food he prepared himself to enjoy, yes he would enjoy, the food that the elves had prepared for him. He really wanted to be grateful for the kindness and generosity that both he and Saphira were showered with but sometimes, like right then, he found himself wishing for mortal company and customs or at least for their food. Worse he had been here less than a week and he already found himself fighting to maintain an attitude of gratitude. Saphira chuckled at his thoughts and pointed out that, when she went hunting next, he should accompany her if he was really that desperate.

It was then that a knock came at the door. Knowing that he really should answer it but feeling like the oldest of old men with his aching muscles, Eragon decided to risk being rude for physical comfort and called out "Enter."

The door opened and revealed, to his surprise and pleasure, Arya Drottning. The princess was changed – he saw that immediately. No longer did she wear her leather traveling clothes but a dark green dress with a brightly woven belt. She had let her hair go unfettered and he was struck by the change not only in the way that she dressed but in the way she stood. He had seen her as an ambassador, an unreachable elven warrior of unparalleled skill and magical power. She had been coiled like a spring just waiting to act but now, for the first time, all that tension and bitterness seemed to have faded away. Suddenly, Arya, was a far cry from the person he thought he knew and he did not know what to say or how to say anything.

So, instead, he settled for the formal greeting for it offer assurance of politeness and helped break his stupefied silence. "Atra esterni ono thelduin." He inwardly winced at the formal greeting for it sounded so strange between the two of them when they had conversed so easily before about mundane things like friends often do.

Arya raised an eyebrow as if surprised by this sudden return to formality but she responded easily and then continued, "Come Eragon, Saphira. I wish to show you some of my home."

It was Eragon's turned to be surprised, "You wish to show us around Ellesmera?"

"Yes," said the elf with an amused smile, "you are here for a short time. You should at least experience a little of what Ellesmera has to offer. I know you would like to explore it and I know many places that you would enjoy."

"It would be an honor," said Eragon and he turned to look at Saphira. _Will you come? _

_No, _said the dragon, _I am weary and this city is not designed for dragons. I quail to think what would happen if I stepped on some precious flower by accident while trying to stay with the pair of you. _

_I do not want you to be alone, _said Eragon gently.

_I am not alone, _said Saphira, _I always have you and maybe later you will come with me for a flight. We have not flown with each other like that for too long. _

_Yes, _said Eragon with a smile, _I will be back soon. _

Saphira puffed at him but he sensed her pleasure at being able to fly, just the two of them, that night and leave behind all the things that haunted their days from training to politics to a coming war. Meeting Arya's questioning gaze, he moved towards the door and said, as he did so, "Saphira would like to remain."

"I see," said Arya and she turned to the dragon, speaking her own farewell and wish of continued health before both the princess and the Rider left the vestibule and then descended the stair case that wrapped around the tree. The two were silent as they moved through the city until, voicing a question that had troubled him for some time, Eragon said. "What do elves do for a living?" They were walking under the trees; where dusk already extended its tendrils making the outlines of trees soft. Here and there, a gemlike lantern twinkled within the side of a tree or at the end of a branch, casting gentle pools of light on either side of the path. Eragon had spoken softly for he did not want to disrupt the quiet peace that seemed to have fallen over the city.

Arya answered just as quietly. "Our strength with magic grants us as much leisure as we desire. Instead we work to master what interests us whether it is pottery or the art of war."

Through the trees, Eragon glimpsed elves working on their own projects – some of magic and others that required only skill honed to instinct. One elf was bent over a pottery wheel that whirled round and round with a steady rhythm. Beside him was the werecat, the one that he had spoken to briefly at the welcoming feast, who was known as Maud. He had passed Solembum's message onto her but said little else. She intrigued him and he wished he knew more about her kind.

Arya led him through a tunnel of dark trees which then opened to reveal a circular atrium, which sheltered a forge and an assortment of tools which, Eragon knew, any blacksmith would covet. He knew little of metal working but what he had gleamed from watching Horst work but he sensed that this was a place where someone of great skill labored. This was no village smithy but the highest pinnacle of that craft. No horseshoes here but fine swords, gleaming suits of mail and bright tipped spears.

Sure enough, an elf woman was working there and, with uncanny speed and strength, she worked over a corselet of silver rings. It was mostly finished and, from the shape of, Eragon suspected that it was designed for an elf. It was too narrow in the chest to accommodate the wider barrel of a mortal and, besides, no elf smith would bother crafting anything for short-lived mortals they had no contact with.

"Rhunon-elda, I have brough you the newest Rider, Eragon Shadeslayer." Arya's clear voice echoed through the air but the elf did not pause in her work, instead she pointedly ignored Arya in a way that seemed terribly rude to Eragon. This was the Queen's daughter after all and deserving of respect if not because of her rank but because of her own acts of courage.

"Another visitor?" asked the smith irritably as she finally lifted her head to gaze at them. He saw the age, the power, in those deep and impenetrable eyes and knew, instinctively, that this elf was even older and more powerful than Oromis.

"Yes," said Arya, "though Eragon brings something that was once crafted by you."

Eragon, unconsciously, had buckled the red sword of Morzan to his waist and now he realized that he was in the presence of its creator. Unsheathing it, he presented it to the smith who was staring at it with shadowed, almost shocked, eyes. Her hands dropped the tools they were holding and she stepped around the anvil before taking the proffered weapon. Slowly, as if handling a fragile object, she caressed the wine-red sheath and her fingers lingered over the black symbol that had been etched in it. Then, with the cold authority of a warrior, she drew it from the sheath and sighted down each of Zar'roc's edges and flexed it between her hands until Eragon worried she might break it despite the strength the blade had already shown. He knew, from the things he had learned from Brom, that Rider's swords could not be broken by normal means and the person who had created them would no doubt know each of her sword's limits.

"Zar'roc," said the elf smith quietly with a strange smile that was a mix of sorrow, pride and past memories flitted across her face. "I remember thee." Turning her back, she looked up at the knotted branches that laced above them. "Out of all the swords I have made I never thought I would see this one again. Morzan guarded it well for he knew its use and how difficult it would be to find anything of comparable strength. How did you come to posses Morzan's sword?"

"Brom gave it to me."

"Brom?" She lifted the sword again and turned to gaze at the Rider. Her old, powerful eyes that were so full of dark memories, deep understanding and resilience pierced him. They searched him and he had the feeling that she saw right to his core and that nothing was hidden from her far-seeing gaze. She may stay here, isolated, but she was not blind and Eragon had the feeling she knew all that happened in this forest and even farther past its borders. "You remind me of him," said the elf quietly.

"I am his son," said Eragon meeting her gaze despite the force within it and the way it made him shrink.

"Ah," said the elf with a strange smile, "I see. I see." Eragon had the feeling she saw more than she let on and that his parentage was just one more thing she took and then looked beyond. It was if she was building a puzzle and yet, unlike the rest of them, she could see the final picture and see the ending. "It has served you well?" she asked suddenly.

The abrupt change of subject making Eragon unsure of his answer for a brief moment and he nearly fumbled his reply. "Yes. I could not ask for a better blade. With Zar'roc I killed Durza."

"But bear his curse," said Runon. Her dark eyes gazing at him with astute clearness and he was not surprised that she knew of his scar or the pain that came with it. "What color is she?" asked the elf smith.

Eragon knew she meant Saphira and so, picturing the blue dragon on a sunny day he did his best to say the color. "Saphira is blue," he said, "a light, almost white, blue on her underside and then darker as it travels up her sides."

"Like Brom's Saphira," said Runon appreciatively, "a fine color. A fine color for a sword." The thought seemed to take a great deal out of the ancient elf for she suddenly returned Za'roc as if holding it brought back too many painful memories. Which, reflected Eragon, it must for she had been the creator of the swords that had slaughtered uncounted hundreds of innocent lives. It was her craft, her handiwork, which had lent unbreakable steel to Galbarotix's desire for revenge. She must feel the weight of it, the guilt, that had she not crafted those swords, she might have saved at least a few lives or maybe prevented the entire conflict. No wonder she had taken an oath to never create another sword or object meant for slaughter.

"Go," said Runon after a moment's more silence. "I have work to finish."

"I will return for you," warned Arya, "you cannot miss the celebration this year Runon."

"So you have said," snapped the elf smith in an irritated voice.

The rhythmic peal of steel on steel, as lonely as the cry of a gull over stormy seas, accompanied them back through the dogwood tunnel and onto the path. Behind them, Rhunon was no more than a black figure. The two friends, an elf and a Rider, walked silently together as each considered the things they had seen and done that day.

Eragon broke the silence first, "Is she always so brusque?"

Arya laughed quietly, "Yes, she is. Runon is one of the oldest and most powerful of my people. She has few friends for few are brave or tolerant enough for her harsh words."

The Rider glanced at his companion and was once more unsure of how to relate to this shining elf princess who seemed so impossibly fair and radiant even in the darkness beneath the trees. Forcing himself to speak to her as if he saw nothing different he asked, "But you enjoy her company don't you?"

Arya met his gaze, her green eyes glinting with questioning curiosity as if the question surprised her and yet she had also never thought about it. "I suppose," said the elf slowly and sounding, for the first time in Eragon's recent memory, unsure of her answer. "I enjoy her bluntness and the way she speaks her mind. It is…refreshing." The elf was quiet for a moment and then continued, "I suppose when I was younger I wished to understand what it meant to be immortal. I have spent decades with mortals and Runon is ancient even by the count of my people. We endure. Runon has endured. She has shown me that and how to defend myself and what my heart tells me to do. Few would dare to walk the path that they truly want to walk and Runon has none of that fear or hesitation."

Eragon merely nodded and filed the information away for later review with Saphira. It was then that he realized he and Arya had arrived back at his tree. Above them the cold stars glinted like little lights and the night was clear. It would be a perfect night for flying. Turning to Arya he spoke, "I will return to Saphira." An unconscious smile lit his face up as he thought of the blue dragon who was waiting for him with impatient eagerness. "She wishes to fly tonight."

"I see," said Arya looking, for a brief moment, rather wistful as if she would have liked to experience the freedom of flying high with a dragon above the tree tops. Normally Eragon would have offered that she accompany both him and Saphira but he did not that night. That night he wanted to be alone with the one thing that understood him and why he was who he was. He did not have to explain anything to Saphira, he just had to ride with her and observe the world as it spun around him.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" asked Eragon unable to stop the anticipation that the idea of spending more time with Arya in the city of trees elicited in him. He wanted to see more - learn more - about elves and the world they lived in and who better then their princess?

"Yes," said Arya with a smile, "perhaps Zoe can join us. I have another place to show you."

"I look forward to it," said Eragon with a sincerity that he hoped conveyed his thanks. He was grateful that Arya was taking the time to show him around and to explain things that he had not understood before but not known how to ask about but once more he found himself unable to adequately thank her. Arya nodded and turned to leave just as Eragon began to make his way up the stairs to his hidden tree house. Saphira was already waiting for him at the very edge of the tear drop door that allowed her to easily leave the tree.

_Ready? _She asked with a flick of her tail. Saphira was impatient and so was her Rider. Glancing around he decided to leave his saddle behind. Tonight he would rely on his own balance and Saphira's skill to stay on her.

_Yes, _said the young Rider as he clambered on her. It had become second nature to him now, the various footholds and ways he managed to mount the towering shoulder were as clear to him as a ladder. What had at first terrified him was the only place where he felt completely free and at home. His thoughts sent warm waves of love and joy pouring from Saphira. She loved that he felt so confident on her and that he found as much joy in the sky as he did.

_I will have to do some reading tonight, _he reminded her gently.

_I know, _said the dragon, _we shall not be out long. Not even for an hour or so. Then both you and I can review the reading you have been assigned. _

_Then what are we waiting for? _he asked with a warm smile.

_Nothing, _she responded before leaping off the tree and soaring into the air. A chill night breeze lent her a strong updraft and soon they were speeding towards the glittering stars as the black forest swept beneath them. _We wait for nothing. _

* * *

><p>"Oromis-elda," came the soft voice from the entrance to the small cottage. The elf turned and saw the young woman who he had invited standing in the doorway. She was standing with a relaxed stance and there was little of the guarded, hard, ice crystal princess she had been the last time he saw her. The reserve was still there, always would be, as was the collected, calm exterior that spoke of measured words and actions. He had dealt with those of high-birth many, many times and he knew that they always drew a certain amount of security from the wall that divided their public and private lives. This princess would be no different though he hoped she would come to trust him enough to speak freely and share what she knew without tha divide. Even the night they had spoken with each other after the meeting, she had clearly kept that line between her two halves.<p>

"Lady Zoe," he said politely and rose from his chair. She may not want to be recognized as a princess but she was and, besides, Oromis made every effort to treat all with courtesy and respect. Examining her he noticed that she had chosen to dress as an elf in a dress of pale blue with a girdle of creamy white fabric. Her weapons glinted by her side like a reminder that, despite her choice of dress, she was no royal flower in need of delicate care. The Rider sensed Glaedr's interest even as the golden dragon hunted far-a-field from the small cottage. He would not be back for many hours but he would listen as much as he could through the link that bound dragon to rider and rider to dragon.

A faint smile gave a little warmth to Zoe's chill features as she moved into the small one room cottage. Her eyes were the color of the water of a northern sea, where ice drifted on its blue-black surface like snow clinging to the ark glass pane of a window. "I hope you are well," she said as she accepted the proffered chair. Oromis settled back into his own seat and inclined his head in acknowledgement of her words.

"I am," he said and, gesturing at the recently made pot of tea and his own half-finished mug, he asked, "Would you like a cup?"

Her eyes regarded him for a fraction of a second as if she was judging the question before she dipped her head in acceptance. "I would. Thank you."

As Oromis moved to get a cup, he voiced his first question. "I asked you to share what you could about your home," he began as he set the cup on the table and poured the steaming liquid. "May I ask my first question?"

The young woman raised an eyebrow and accepted the tea before leaning back and regarding him with that amused, detached expression that revealed absolutely nothing about how she actually felt or if her apparent amusement was actually genuine. "Proceed," she said as she raised the warm mug to her lips.

Glad that he managed to elicit some lightness and start to thaw her natural reserve and carefulness, Oromis continued. "How is it that you managed to become proficient in weapons? Elves hold none of the prejudices that men have when it comes to women and their role in war and the running of a country."

Zoe was silent for a moment and then she shrugged, "It was not easy. For you are right. Mortal men do not think a woman's place is on the field of war. They did not mind my presence in politics or the influence I or my mother commanded in matters of trade or diplomacy." Zoe was silent for a moment as she took another sip of the fragrant tea. "I always knew I did not, could not; sit ide while my brothers rode out. The hardest thing is to sit – safe – while others who I loved and cared for risked their lives. To wait at home and then have them come back covered in blood or, worse of all, not alive at all was unbearable. My parents were concerned and there were many things I had to convince them of but, in the end, they allowed me to go on patrols. I had always trained with my brothers. Leaving for the borders was merely the next step."

Nodding, the elf decided to pursue the topic a little further. "What do you mean by patrols?"

"They are groups of twenty or so men who patrol the northern and eastern borders. They have been a long standing source of protection and intelligence. My younger brother, Eomund, and I rode on these patrols and remained in the wilderness where few live for long stretches of time. We did battle with the creatures that haunt those wild places and protected the few villages that are out there. My elder brother was often required to stay closer to Caer Daythl merely because he was the eldest and needed to have a presence at court."

It was a familiar concept to the Rider who had spent much of his life doing something very similar. After all, before the Fall that was what the Riders had done. "What did you defend against?"

"Many things," she said quietly and he saw the way her eyes clouded as if she was revisiting past battles and memories stained with blood and the valor of those who had died. "They are wild lands and there is darkness where no light comes. An old darkness. A darkness that waits for no one and holds nothing back when it strikes. Many have died defending my world from it but peace has come. Hope that the dark days are almost done and that peace may follow."

They were both silent and both looked out the window though they each saw something different. The sky was darkening, stars would start to appear soon and, like every night, Oromis was reminded of other sunsets in happier times. When it had been a warm study or a Rider's resting place not a small cottage that he sat in. When dragons filled the skies and friends, good people, surrounded him and made the burdens of command easier to bear. The days when his heart was lighter and his body stronger.

"Oromis-elda," came the quiet voice of his companion. Her soft, yet commanding voice shook him from his trance and he turned slightly to meet her steady gaze. What he saw there surprised him – the dark irises were glittering with understanding and compassion. Suddenly the elf realized that she understood all too well what certain times of day brought back and how the smallest thing could trigger those memories. Whether it was a clear dawn that raised memories of triumph over shadow or an open book or a soft word spoken by a mother to her child – she understood. This princess, this girl, had seen his silence for what it was and she called him back from it. She asked him to return to the present moment instead of lingering the shadows of past days. For, he realized, she was right. For too long he had waited and now, at long last, hope had been given to him in the form of a blue dragon and her young Rider.

He inclined his head in quiet thanks and she merely smiled in acceptance. It was not a reserved smile, or a polite one but a small, real, understanding one that merely acknowledged the silent expression of gratitude. Speaking, Oromis said, "I have kept you long enough."

"Yet you have asked little," she said with a light laugh. "No questions of geography? Of magic? Of politics or history?"

The elf gazed at her long and hard – surprised by her almost teasing tone that was so at odds with the reserve he had seen in her. Perhaps she was allowing him to see the side of her that Eragon, Saphira, Arya and others she was close to saw. "I do not want to spring everything on you at once," returned the elf with his own, warm, smile. "There is time enough for all of that."

"Yes," she said as she finished the last of her tea. "I have enjoyed this," the smile grew and her voice adopted a questioning lilt, "may I come back tomorrow?"

The Rider suddenly realized that he had been secretly hoping she would ask him if she could rather than the other way round. "I would enjoy it to," said the elf. Suddenly he remembered a matter that he had discussed at great length with Gleadr. "One last thing," he said as she prepared to rise.

"Yes?"

"I have asked a young elf to spar with Eragon starting morning." Oromis stopped and saw a flash of understanding and something else - a strange look as if she had already known of this and he had not surprised her. The elf filed it away – he would think on that for he sensed that there was one thing she had not spoken of. Something that had been left unsaid and yet was critical to understanding why Zoe was here – yes he would think on it later and maybe ask her of it seeing as they had advanced from cool acquaintances to friends.

"Would you like me to be there?" asked Zoe. She clasped her hands in front of her and he noted the faint scars that traced across them – scars that spoke of war and a life lived on the edge.

"Yes," said Oromis carefully, "I am sure you would wish to practice yourself and perhaps having you there will…" he paused and was uncertain if he needed to continue or if she had understood his meaning.

"Of course," said the young woman with a smile. "I already planned to spar with him and Arya mentioned she would like to meet me there as well." Rising, they said there farewells and then she turned to leave only to pause at the doorway. The light of the wyer lights that Oromis had placed cast a cool light her face as she turned it slightly to gaze at the Rider in his chair with his scrolls in front of him. The faint glow that hung about hr naturally, suddenly intensified and she looked radiant with an elvish dress falling around her. "Oromis-elda," she said quietly and while her voice was level it carried all the authority of someone who knows of what they speak. "Someone once told me that there is no need for sadness when the end is so uncertain." A smile curved her lips upward, "No one really knows what will happen and so do not let the weight of the past and the fear of the future stop you from being in the present. We will not fail."

Before the Rider could respond, she turned and left. Oromis stared at the scrolls before him and suddenly he laughed despite the pain and the grief that he carried. She was right. A mortal girl from another world was right. Moving to set another kettle to boil, the elf felt at peace with his life and the world for the first time in many long, lonely years.

* * *

><p><em>I was on a horse and it was a pitch black night. The kind of night that is so inky and dark one feels that dawn will never come. Someone's arms were firmly wrapped around my body and holding me upright. My cheek rested against a warm chest and, for a second, I felt completely safe and secure until the dream became sharper and the things I had once felt returned. A burning pain that spread through my entire body like wild fire making everything fuzzy as I struggled to hold onto conciousness for, even if this was a dream, my mind had not forgotten this pain and now it reminded me of it. The rhythmic movement of the horse sent stabs of more pain through my body and I wondered how long I could onto this dream – this nightmare – of a past experience. <em>

_My dream self groaned and the arms around me tightened as Eomund's voice came from above me. "A little longer Zoe," he said quietly, "please. Just a little longer." _

_I would have responded had I been able to but I was too weak and the strength escaped me as did the ability to formulate words. Darkness, blessed darkness, was calling and how I wanted to give in. I turned my head ever so slightly and caught sight of other riders, hooded and cloaked; they bore the mark of the rangers that both Eomund and I served with on the north and eastern lands. I noticed more men were being carried in front of other riders – some sort of fight had occurred and more than one casuality including me apparently. I also caught a brief glimpse of Pethred, his distinctive golden hair hidden by the hood of a cloak. His face was dark with concentration but, as if sensing my gaze, he turned and met my gaze. His blue eyes were full of deep worry and fear – was it for me? _

_The pain was too much and I slipped into blackness as I surrendered the fight for good or for ill. Sometimes we just cannot win and this was one of those times. _

I woke gasping for breath. The dream, the lingering pain, clung to me and I sat up in my bed in Du Weldenvarden shaking and sweaty. Drawing my knees to my chest, I buried my face in my hands in an effort to quiet my rapid heart beat. That dream had affected me and, alone in my room during the darkest hours of the night, I felt alone. For, in the end, I really was alone and no one would come and comfort me this night nor was there a mother or father to run to.

I lay back down and gazed up at the ceiling unable to forget the pain or the words. What had happened? The longer I lay there the calmer I grew until the pounding reminder of pain faded and the beating of my wild heart settled. Sometimes, after dreams, the rational part of you says it alright and not to be silly but the part that fears the dark and is what keeps you alive in moments of crisis says you should be frightened. That part of your mind is the one that acts instinctively when you suddenly find yourself in a situation that is life and death.

Yet, despite feeling that I could not find sleep again this night my body had other ideas and so did my mind. As I lay there I felt myself slipping back to sleep and with sleep came more dreams - more memories.

_This time I was riding. The horse beneath me surged along all pure power and speed. The ground was soft and muffled the sound of the horse's hooves. Everything was muffled and I felt as if it was only this horse and I in this entire forest. It was dark again but this time a sliver of moon illuminated the trees that passed beside me as I thundered down the trail. I was being hunted. I felt it and the adrenalin that heightened each of my senses to unnatural heights. My bow was in one hand and I was gripping the sides of the horse tightly for I was bareback and I needed all my balance to remain seated while looking behind me and gripping a weapon. _

_I knew that I trusted this horse. Its coat was dark in the shadows but I knew it well. I knew it was swift and that it would carry me as well as it could and never balk with fear or let me fall. Just knowing that made me feel a little better because a horse that you know and trust makes you feel quite a bit better about galloping full out through a forest. _

_ As I rode, I sensed something beside me. I glanced to left and then to the right and felt cold fear grow inside of me as I saw red eyes and the massive shapes of some sort of animal. They ran on both sides of my horse as they kept up with tireless determination. Wolves. They were giant, red-eyed, vicious, difficult to kill, wolves and that sent another wave of cold desperation through me. I quashed it and tried to stay on task. _

_Why was I alone? Why was it just me and this horse in an empty forest? I had no idea and so all I could do was lean forward and urge the galloping horse forward. Drawing an arrow to my bow, I turned it and fired it at one of the shadowy shapes that I could just make out. The arrow found its mark and I heard a pained yelp as one of the creatures fell back. I did not know if it was dead or not but I did not care. Just as long as it no longer ran beside me for, now, I just had one of the evil things to deal with. _

_It was then that it happened. In a massive leap the last wolf jumped and hit my horse's side hard enough to send him tumbling forwards and throwing me clear. I slammed into the ground and for a second I could not rise, stars flickered in front of my eyes and I could not tell what was up or down. Stabs of pain - fierce aching pain - went up from my waist and my shoulder burned with agony. For a few seconds I could do nothing for, in the fall, all the air had been knocked out of me and I could not even think above the pain. However, in such scenarios, adrenalin saved me and forced my badly battered body upright. It was then that I saw it. _

_The wolf, red eyes gleaming with the success of its hunt, coming slowly closer for it intended to kill me slowly. It was not a normal wolf. It was a dark creature created with black magic and evil intent. A normal wolf would not have done what this one did and now – well now it wanted to show just how much control it now had. _

_My good hand closed around a hidden knife and, just as the wolf jumped, I threw the pitiful weapon. For, after all, what good is a small throwing knife against all the might of that evil creature? I was helpless and, in those fractions of a second, I experienced what it meant to give everything up because you can do nothing more. _

I woke just as the wolf jumped and my knife found its mark in the creature's throat. This time, I was twisted in my sheets and covered in cold sweat. I fought my way clear of the suffocating sheets and walked to the window that overlooked the peaceful garden. My heart rate was too fast and my breaths came in ragged gasps. I could still feel everything and I gripped the frame of the window tightly as if by holding onto it I would be able to restore a sense of reality to my racing mind and panicked body.

It had been many years since I had a nightmare like the ones tonight. Yet these were not night terrors but memories and it was that which terrified me most of all. Would I have to endure each battle? All the times I came back to my family with new scars, wounded men and news of darkness which spread like suffocating blackness? Would I have to watch all the friends that I had failed to save die again? Had I been at home I could have run to my brothers or my sister and received comfort but now...now I had no one to turn to. I was alone. Alone. It echoed around me and the coldness of that word turned my blood to ice. I had no one to turn to - no one to run to when I needed support and comfort.

A choked sob forced its way out of my constricted throat. I raised a hand to my face and felt wet tears – when had I started crying? I did not know. Alone, in my room, I sunk onto the window seat and curled up with my face in my knees and cried because I was too weak. I felt as if I was slowly suffocating – unable to fight clear of the pain, the terror, the hopelessness and the fear that I had endured both in real life and just now in my dreams. For, in the end, it is easier to give others hope and words of inspiration then tell them to your own heart when it is the one trapped in suffocating desperation

I raised my face and looked out at the night sky. A warm presence suddenly seemed to be beside me – though I was alone. It was a warmth that soothed and spoke of everything opposite to what I felt right then. Suddenly, quite suddenly, I was no longer alone and the suffocating emotions were lifted as if it were nothing more than a cloud blown away by a stiff wind. The memories did not seem so terrible, the dreams did not seem so frightening and the past not so unbearable.

I would not sleep that night – no – but whatever that presence did stopped my thoughts from tumbling out of control and into darkness.

* * *

><p>Murtagh did not look like himself. Instead he resembled a plain faced and perfectly ordinary street laborer. He was walking with his shoulders hunched, his eyes downcast and there was nothing at all extraordinary about him. Like a grey blob he melded in with the crowd and people's eyes just slid over him as he passed by them as an unknown figure in a crowd of people. He knew the art of blending well and so he adopted this new persona with ease.<p>

It was a market day. People were hustling from stall to stall, street urchins were slipping in and out of groups of people looking for an easy purse to pick and stall holders shouted their wares in loud, almost obnoxious, voices. Murtagh moved through this crowd, searching for the man he had been shadowing. He was a fairly certain that the man he was following was in the next chain of command and actually dispensed orders instead of received.

The man he was following a little like him. A nondescript, plain middle aged person who wore no visible weapons and did not even seem to have a well guarded mind if Murtagh's cursory glance at it had been enough. However, often the best spies were the grey-suited, plain faced, no account ones who could blend into the crowd with enviable ease. It was a look Murtagh had tried to adopt and, to further the masquerade; he had purposely changed the walls of his mind so they, a little like the man he was following, appeared weak and dull instead of hard and defended.

Murtagh hoped to follow the man until he turned off into an alley or somewhere closed off and apart of from the crowds or any stray passer-by. Then he would act. The plan was to over power him but keep him alive. Even now, Brom was on stand-by with a couple of magicians from the Varden and they would be there as soon as he let them know they were needed.

As he trailed the man he thought back to the latest bit of time he had spent with the new leader of the Varden, Nasuada. She was a fair leader and respected by those she labored to serve. No, he had no complaint with her on that score. In fact, the more time he spent around her the more he came to respect the ease with which she managed to move through the circles of advisors and lords who all sought her attention or at least time to make their opinion known. While, in contrast, King Orrin was a peaceful king. Nasuada was a revolutionary. That difference was enough to create explosive council meetings when the two views clashed merely because one was reluctant for war and the other eager for it.

Murtagh had spent little time with the King, mostly because he was busy with other duties and tried to remain, as much as possible, away from the social scene of a royal court. He had become a silent aide who watched from behind Nasuada. Brom had taken on a much more active and apparent role in both the Varden and in the battle preparations that were occurring in Surda. The old storyteller commanded enough respect that, a few words spoken on Murtagh's behalf, had been enough for the young man to gain unrestricted access to wherever he wanted. This freedom had been instrumental in the capture of ten operatives of the Black Hand. Now, with the information they had shared, Murtagh had stepped the game up a level.

The more he thought on it the more he came to realize that Brom and Nasuada had really, in the end, given him the position of spy captain. Brom offered advice and the magic needed for his disguise and other small enchantments but, for the most part, it had been Murtagh who was responsible for the information gathered and the spies found. He really was working against the Empire and had even started managing the few spies scattered across the Empire – sending them places and requesting additional news about such and such a person or matter. His extensive knowledge about the Empire and those who controlled it had been a gift that he could only appreciate in a situation like this. It had been him, not anyone else, who did all of this and was earning the grudging respect of Orrin's chief nobles and advisors. Just thinking that made his step lighter until he purposely quashed the feeling.

He stopped at a stall and pretended to be examining some of the trinkets displayed there but moved on before long. They were skirting along the outside of the market and soon Murtagh hoped the operative would slip down a side street and they could work this out somewhere else. He was lucky, for at that second, the spy did turn away from the bustling market and down a wide, respected street where cheery inns, small shops and well looked after houses lended a welcoming feel. It was not a place where one expected a spy of a mad king to walk. Yet, like so many things, outward appearances rarely tell the truth. Who knows what lay behind these colorful buildings or the ordinary enough people who went about their business here.

Just as he turned to follow the spy, he turned and looked back into the busy market with casual ease as if he was not checking for pursuers. It was then that he saw her. She was standing at a stall, alone, haggling over something with the holder. It was her. Vivian. Her dress was simple, her red hair bound back and yet she was different. No amount of simple clothing or any attempt at being ordinary could hide the shine to her red hair or the way she just naturally carried herself. She may fool the civilian and the weak minded operatives that she controlled, Murtagh saw beyond the façade. Just as, he knew, she could see beyond his.

Murtagh's heart rate rose and he quickly slipped into the shadows of a building, not caring suddenly about the spy that was making his away from him. He did not know what to do suddenly and so he merely watched her. Murtagh watched as she took her purchase and then made her away from him and out of sight in the crowd that pressed around them.

Without stopping to think of what he was doing – or why – he followed her. He did not stop and think for the first time in many years. Nor did he even consider what following might mean. Instead, in a carefully created disguise, the young man followed the red-haired girl who he had promised to leave behind in his other life.

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><p><em><strong>Hello! Yes - another terribly late update but at least I got it to you! Once more: THANK YOU to all you amazing readers! If you really want to make me happy and get me really writing then send a review...or two...or more! More is always better... :) <strong>_

_**Some replies to a few of you: **_

_**Tirananniel: Thank you :) I am glad you love this story! I love writing it! **_

_** : I am glad you like this story! It is fun to rediscover stories and sometimes all you need is another perspective or plot...thank you for your review! :) **_

_**Chris: I am getting there! I will have the horn in the next few chapters or so - just havn't found the right moment for it. As for someone from her own world visiting her - maybe! I was actually thinking of it and some of the uses...I try to make them real people. I think that is the hardest thing of all. Anyways - BIG thank you for all your reviews and suggestions!**_

_**Elemental Dragon slayer: I seriously might have to try that sandwich...could be VERY interesting! :) Yes I do ride horses on the hunter/jumper circuit which is why this update took FOREVER because I was away and all free time was devoted to schoolwork and the rest of the time I was riding and showing. I have a little bit of a break and then I am back at it! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for all your reviews - they really do make all the difference! :)**_

_**livelaughplaymusic: I am glad you liked that part! I will try to include more moments like it because it was very fun to write and seemed to fit in well with the story which, in the end, is really about Zoe. **_


	45. The Duel

You. You are back. I wasn't really expecting you. I mean, it has been a while since we have spoken like this. Just us – me and you – alone in this place where nothing really changes and to leave I must invite you. It seems as if I just turned around and there you were looking at me with that look of expectation.

It is strange isn't it? The way we meet like this. The way I talk to you as if you could actually respond to me and you actually were flesh and blood standing right beside me not some sort of silent witness. You have become like a shadow that watches me and listens before vanishing at some unknown signal.

I suppose we should go. I say this every time. Without a doubt, I will have to steel myself like a diver about to jump from the highest diving board. Everytime I look to you hoping that you can offer comfort or reassurance. Everytime you merely look at me expectantly and I must go. This time is no different. So let us go because I think of you as a friend – a companion to the end. You will be there and so I think of this as your adventure to. You are tied up in it just as much as I am. One must be careful of these sorts of things. For, in the end, they have the power to change us. There is no going back. There is only the future – the jump and the plunge into the unknown.

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><p>I did not sleep. Nope. I did not get any more sleep after those memories turned what should have been a peaceful rest into one of terror, pain and despair. Do you experience many nightmares reader? Do you know how it feels as the sun finally sends its warm light out and the last of the shadows recede? The way it feels after the endless night comes to a close? That was how I felt as the stars faded and the coldness that had hung around me that night began to dissipate as the rays of sunlight streaked across the sky.<p>

You may also know how bad dreams and then no sleep can affect one's temper. My own temper was rather sharp and my fuse was probably very, very short. However, I had places to be so I left my place on the window seat and stretched the kinks and stiffness from my body. I had spent most of the night just sitting with my knees drawn up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. In one of my hands was my little black stone. I had called on a little of its light that night and taken comfort not only the light but the warm, smoothness of it as it sat in my palm.

A warm bath later, some small-talk with Rina the elf maid who had been given the task of looking after me and then a small breakfast had me ready to leave. I wore my fighting clothes and my weapons were by my side as I left my room and left Tildari Hall. Waiting for me at the entrance to Hall, dressed and armed similarly, was Arya. She had agreed the previous night to show me where the training field was. I suspected she also wanted to see Eragon duel Vanir – something I was rather grateful for.

"Arya," I greeted with a smile.

"Zoe," she responded and then a small frown appeared on her face as she studied me. "Are you well?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged it off. "Yes," I said firmly, "I did not sleep well is all." The elf looked like she wanted to pursue the topic but decided against it. Nodding her head she gestured for me to follow and we made our way through the forest. It was rather empty at this time of morning; it seemed many elves were inside their various tree houses or out somewhere else. I was grateful for the quiet, almost deserted paths that Arya led me down for I did not wish to repeat the meet-and-greet that I had been a part of the last time I had walked with Arya.

We emerged onto a sparring field. Elves of both sexes were fighting in pairs and groups. Of course – because they were elves reader – watching them fight was like watching elegant dancers winging across a stage.

Eragon and Saphira were standing not far from us. Beside them was a dark-haired elf who I realized must be Vanir. I had disliked him in the books and he had hardly redeemed himself in my eyes. Meeting him in person did nothing to improve my opinion of him. He had an arrogant curl to his lips and his eyes were shuttered.

"Zoe," said Eragon with a smile.

"Eragon," I greeted warmly as he turned and greeted Arya. Saphira and I exchanged the usual good morning and then Vanir made his presence known. With an elegant incline of his head to Arya and a respectful murmured greeting he turned to examine me. His eyes took me in and I could not help but feel that he found me severely lacking though that may have been my own imagination inventing things. I was being quick to judge and mostly because of what I had read in the books – I would have to be careful of that lest it get me into trouble.

Arya gestured at Eragon and Vanir, "You are here to spar are you not?"

"Oromis-elda has asked me to," said Vanir carefully and I could not help but notice the weight he placed on the Rider's name as if it was important and he wished all to know that it was only because of Oromis he was there at all. Perhaps no sleep and my bad dreams were giving me a nasty way of viewing people but I felt my dislike harden into something a little more dangerous the longer I was around him.

Eragon glanced at me and I smiled reassuringly. The Rider was overwhelmed and it was no wonder. He had not sparred since before Durza and I cursed myself for not making him train with me at least the previous night. Now he came to the field without knowing how far he was able to go – even worse was the last time he had dueled he had been on a battle field facing Kull not a nimble elf with a bone to pick.

The two stepped away and I rested a hand on Saphira's side as she watched with eagle eyes. She too was tense and even Arya seemed concerned though she hid it well. I noticed how, as Eragon and Vanir squared off, the elves sparring seemed to slow as they turned to watch the fight. The pressure was on and the spectators eager to see the new Rider duel it out with Vanir.

It did not take long. Eragon was mortal and Vanir was an elf – an arrogant one – but someone who was both swift and strong. I hate to say it but it showed because, within a few minutes, he had my friend disarmed and 'dead.' Arya let out a drawn out sigh beside me and I had to restrain myself from saying or doing anything as Eragon doggedly tried again. Again he was disarmed and again he tried again. The longer they sparred - the more Vanir triumphed - the more my temper and my dislike for the arrogant warrior grew.

I had been raised around great warriors and people of incredible skill, wisdom and power. However, unlike Vanir, they had seen no reason to flaunt that power because they were confident of whom they were. They had wanted to share it – to use that power to benefit others. They never forgot what it felt like to be weaker or young and so they had done all they could to help others develop their own skills. My father's advisor and leading commander, Gwydion, had been like that. When he taught us to fight he had never let us linger on our failures or fears but shown us again and again. It was something that had stuck with me and made him into one of my idols. It was something that Vanir did not understand and nor did he make any attempt to hide his contempt.

Finally, after the fifth and most intense duel yet, Vanir spoke in his cold, lyrical voice.  
>"I expected better of you."<p>

Beside me I felt Arya stiffen and Saphira let out a soft growl barely audible. Eragon shrugged and said mildly, "Then let us continue."

"Why?" asked Vanir. "You are not ready to spar with someone of my skill."

Eragon said nothing for a long moment, "Can we please continue?" I will say reader – I admired his attempt at keeping his head. So far he was doing an admirable job of remaining above Vanir's pathetic jabs. Would you do the same? Could either you or I manage to hold our head like Eragon was? Maybe but I can't speak for you.

"No," said the Vanir haughtily, "I will not spar with a coward like you."

No one, from the elves sparring to Saphira, moved or spoke. My anger was beginning to grow. Eragon leaned on the hilt of his sword with an impassive look on his face as he gazed at Vanir. He might have been told the weather forecast but I could sense his anger and I knew, for I knew him well, that Vanir was swiftly pushing him to the breaking point. Unknowingly Vanir was also pushing my threshold.

"Your blood is as thin as the rest of your races. Cowards. I think Saphira must have made a mistake when she chose you." The elves watching from the sidelines gazed at Vanir's words and muttered among themselves. Apparently it was one thing to insult a Rider but another to insult a dragon. Arya's face paled and I saw her hands tighten around her sword but she made no move to act so I did.

I stepped forward unable to stand quietly any longer. "Cowards?" I asked coldly.

"You do not understand," said Vanir dismissively.

Ah reader, if there is one thing that will rile me it is that. Out of everything I could be told that was one statement that I hated with all my heart. Because I was young. Because I was a girl. Because I was a princess and did not have to struggle for anything. For any thousand reasons that never made any sense. Now this elf told me that. A young, proud, self-absorbed elf whose words spoke of his fear that his precious forest and way of life would be destroyed because of Galbatorix, a human, and Saphira's choice of Eragon who so happened to be another human. You know what I dreamed of last night and what they had reminded me of. You, reader, know that I had slept little and that the dark things, the painful things that haunted my memories had stirred once more. My temper flared. Because I, unlike this elf, had seen true sacrifice, courage, love, loyalty and determination to protect the freedom of others. This elf could not claim that.

"So we are not worthy?" I said icily. Each word was spoken with careful clearness so that each and every elf on the field could hear me. "We are nothing." My anger grew and grew. I felt my magic but I had no need of it – I had need of a skill that years of constant and relentless training had honed.

Vanir's lips curled with disgust and I saw the contempt that so many elves shared for my race. I saw it and I remembered all the other times I had seen such a look cross a person's face. I hated it. I wanted to challenge it. It was the spark to my fuse – the final straw for it was an insult to all the sacrifices made by those since the Fall of the Riders. It was an insult that eclipsed Eragon and me.

I had seen this sort of thing before. My brothers and I, like many before us, had worked to change it. To open narrow minds to a new perspective and create alliances where nothing but anger and bitterness had existed. It was our duty and we had to do it if we were keep any sort of peace. It was this kind of ignorance that led to so much pain and injustice – it was infuriating to see especially in people as famed for their wisdom as elves. It was an insult to them and I hoped those watching realized it. However, this time I did not have Eomund or Pethred backing me up. This time I was an ambassador. Yet I could not let it go. My pride would not.

"Well then," I said with a small smirk. "I challenge you. I challenge you to a duel Vanir." My voice rose and carried across the deathly still field and I saw elves step away in surprise as they murmured to each other once more.

Eragon stepped forward worriedly, "Zoe," he said warningly. "It is my fight," his voice held his desperation to prove himself to the elves who watched and criticized the new Rider. He was right of course. This was his chance to prove things that needed to be proved.

"No," I said firmly and turned to meet Vanir's mocking grey eyes. "It is my fight now. Come Vanir," I said tauntingly, "show me why you and your kind are so superior." A gasp at the cold accuracy of my words rose from the crowd and I saw how many elves looked embarrassed like children caught out by adults. I knew I was acting like my brothers would when provoked – without a thought or care for the consequence. The anger was giving my thoughts a strange clearness that made my heart beat faster but also disconnected my mind. Even though, like distant warning bells, I could hear my first instructor in sword play saying that emotions only killed and that to win one had to ignore them. I did not listen to those bells – instead I ignored my helpful little mental voice. I did what any good little teenager would. Right reader? Stuff the consequences and live without a thought…great way to go in the short term...

I drew my sword. Vanir followed. We squared off. Swords raised and ready while our eyes watched the other for any sign. Vanir, I noted, stood with an almost lazy arrogance. It was an arrogance that refused to acknowledge my skill even though he had never seen me fight or knew my capabilities. It is a stupid attitude to adopt when fighting and I would show him why.

We engaged. Our blades meeting in a clang of metal against metal as we both judged the other's strength and dexterity. Then blows were exchanged – hard and fast blows. The duel was the fiercest I had fought for a long time – even more difficult than the one between Arya and I in Farthen Dur. Vanir held nothing back and neither did I – the difference in our opinions lending a kind of energy to the fight that was not usually present. It is these kinds of fights that you know exactly where each and every part of your body is. You know what to do and how to do it and why it must be done – you are thinking three to four movements ahead of where you are.

To describe exactly how I landed Vanir on his back with my blade at his neck is an exercise in descriptive writing that I shall not engage in. You, my reader, will have to imagine that one second our blades were locked together and the next they were not. Then I stepped forward and somehow – I can't recall how exactly – I tripped him and then it was over. It was a long fight – a fight in which the outcome had been undecided and we both had resorted to each and every move known to either elf or man. Do not ask me to repeat it. That would be next to impossible.

Vanir landed on his back with an ungraceful and most unelven-like thump. We were both breathing hard. We were both still living in the moment and we were both completely surprised by the outcome of the duel. Even when I had challenged him I had not expected to win. Who knows how I did it or what exactly happened to grant it to me.

Holding the point of my sword to his neck I said flatly, "You have lost." I took no joy from this fight. Defeating Vanir was not satisfying for this was not a fight I could take any pride in. This was a fight meant to teach a lesson and those are serious things where victory is no sweet taste but rather a bitter one. Who wants to have to teach a lesson through violence? One would rather never have to teach it at all but hope it was a lesson already learned.

"How?" he asked.

"I do not know," I said quietly. "We have our own skills I suppose."

"You should not have won," said Vanir doggedly.

"Why?" I asked. "I have trained for much of my life. I have seen battle. I have dueled with those far more skilled then you. Why should I not be able to defeat you?" My sword did not move from its place on his neck. My breaths still came in quick gasps and my heartbeat was unnaturally loud in the silence that had descended on us and those watching. I felt empty of everything – drained – as if things had slowed down and stopped. As if the world had fallen still and the only things able to move and speak were me and the elf with my sword at his neck.

Vanir said nothing. I stepped away and raised my sword before sheathing it. My muscles ached with protest – I would be sore for the next few days. Then, remembering the manners that governed such duels, I stretched out my hand and held it in front of Vanir. It was both an offer of peace and one of closure so that what had occurred to cause the duel did not continue off the practice field.

Vanir's his eyes looked confused and surprised. Their grey depths unsure and almost worried by the offer I was extending to him. After a moment of hesitation, he accepted my assistance and allowed me to help him to his feet. His hands, while long fingered and smooth, were sweaty and I saw the red marks that the hilt of his sword had left there just as mine had done. When he stood before me, a good head taller, I thought I saw a glimmer of respect but I did not look deeply – I had no reason to. I moved to return to my companions but, before I could, Vanir spoke.

"Why?"

I raised an eyebrow at the simple and yet broad question, "Why?" I repeated a little stupidly. I was aware of all the eyes on us, the silence of field as all leaned a little closer to hear the conversation. "Why did I challenge you?" I asked again. The elf nodded and I shook my head in reply. "One day you will understand. One day you will see why. When you see enough death and suffering and pain and grief and war. You will see why and how it does not matter what you are or believe in." Vanir was looking at me strangely and I dared not glance at the other silent elves. I continued, "Strength comes in many forms and courage is different for everyone. Winning does not always mean victory and losing does not always mean failure. One day you will understand why – maybe when you are older and have seen more of the world – you will know."

I turned away and walked to Eragon, Saphira and Arya. Saphira lowered her head and gazed at me steadily, _Well fought. _Came her deep rumble in my mind like a thunderstorm. I smiled slightly in acceptance of her words but could not formulate a reply.

Arya did not meet my gaze and I could not help but wonder if she disapproved of my actions. I did not confront her especially as the field was finally starting to return to normal activity as elves resumed training though I was certain they would not stop talking of my duel with Vanir. Soon it would be all of the forest and I dreaded confronting Oromis – something I had not thought of until after the duel. How typical…

"You should go," I said quietly to Eragon. My throat was dry and I longed for some water after the intensity of the physical workout I had just done. "Oromis will be waiting for you."

"Yes," said the Rider and I sensed he wished to speak more and probably ask me why I had been so determined to confront the elf but understood that now was not the time. Maybe he also guessed why I had been unable to let Vanir's words – a symbol of a much wider feeling – go unchallenged and tolerated. I think he did – Eragon had become perceptive and he was no longer oblivious to the world of politics and alliances that moved around him. However, with one last long look, we embraced as friends do and promised to speak with each other later. Then, with a great whoosh, he and Saphira took off. They left me with the silent elf and the glances thrown my way by elves as they tried to pretend they were practicing.

"Arya," I said carefully as I tried to judge her mood and feelings but failed miserably because when she wanted to be the elf was as impossible to read as a brick wall. The elf did not seem to want to say anything to me until, quite suddenly she spoke.

"Where will you go?"

I could not say she was cold or angry but neither could I say she was relaxed. Her eyes were guarded and reserved – no sign of the easy friendship we had developed. Just as her eyes were masked, her voice was guarded whether because of the elves surrounding us or because she was unsure of how to treat me I was not certain. So I shrugged and said, "Back to my rooms probably."

"Then I will accompany you," she said and with that we left. Like before we walked in silence but this was a different silence. This silence was the silence that falls between two people who did not know what to say and so would rather let the other speak then risk insult. We walked the paths without making a sound until I could no longer stand it for I wanted to know where I stood with the elf. We had been friends because we were similar but, perhaps, my actions had put a wedge between us and I would rather know that now. I was no elf willing to wait for a century – I did not have time for that.

"Do you disapprove?" I asked as we drew closer to Tildari Hall. The trees in this part of the forest were old and thick – all of them homes or parts of large palaces like Tildari. At first it was hard to see these palaces and grand homes until, quite suddenly, your eyes focused and it was impossible to miss.

The elf cast me a surprised glance and then, carefully, said. "No," her words were muffled by the thick vegetation and moss carpeted ground. "You just surprised me."

I could not help the chuckle, "Really? I surprised you?"

Arya cast me a quick look, "Yes," she said. "I did not think you would act so."

I shrugged, "Would you have done the same thing?"

The question seemed to surprise her. Her eyes widening as she considered the question as if it was something she had never considered. "Maybe," she said carefully. Then she shook her head, "No, you are right. I would if I was in the same situation. I nearly found myself wanting to challenge Vanir today but held back for I knew it was not my fight." Her words reminded me that I probably should have done the same and taken the high road instead of stooping to Vanir's level.

We came to a stop in front of the entrance to Tildari Hall. The elf and I were now standing in a garden of beautiful flowers that were allowed to grow wherever they pleased until they created a mesmerizing mosaic of petals, colors and leaves. "Then I did not surprise you," I said as I met her watchful eyes. "You understand why and if you understand my reasons then you understand my actions."

The elf laughed then and she rested a hand on my shoulder. "No," she said with a smile, "you still surprised me. You continue to surprise me Zoe of Angard and Llyr." With that she dropped her hand and said with a gesture, "Would you like to accompany Eragon, Saphira and I tonight? I planned on showing them the Menoa Tree."

I shook my head, "Maybe another night Arya. I would love to see the tree but not this night."

The elf did not ask why though I knew she wanted to know. I saw the curiosity and the interest my refusal sparked in her but, because she understood about silence, she said nothing and left to do whatever things an elf princess does in her city.

I mounted the steps and was about to make my way to my apartments when another idea, another place I go to, came to me. For some mysterious reason I had the urge to visit the hidden forge of Runon. I do not know why – maybe it was because I wanted to speak with someone so above everything and who had the experience of ages.

So, with a vague memory of how I got there, I turned around and made my way through the houses and down the streets of the elf city. I passed by the grand homes created with trees and the ivy covered bowers were elves played finely crafted music and debated with each other. I passed by beautiful open clearings where flowers grew in bright clumps of color. Many elves turned and watched me as I made my way past; their murmurs following me as I past like a rain storm. I tried to ignore the fact that my hair was still sweaty, my clothes hardly something I would want to be seen wearing in this city or that my weapons were hardly appropriate to be carting around like this.

I found the elf smith's forge without too much difficultly. My feet did not hesitate as I lightly walked down the tunnel of trees and into the open space where the forge was. Runon was there. Her back was to me and she was working over her anvil, the sounds of a hammer ringing through the air like a clear, high cry.

She did not turn nor did she stop her work. "Runon-elda," I said quietly moving forward but still keeping a good couple of feet between us. I noticed the bright tip of a spear head that was only half-formed and still a dull color.

"You fought with Vanir," said Runon after a long pause.

"Yes," I said, "it seems to be all over the forest."

"Everyone knows of it," said the elf smith, "we gossip just as much, if not more, as humans. You have earned a name for yourself."

"As usual," I muttered darkly. "I can't just let things go." I dug a toe into the soft ground and gazed at my feet. I thought I had spoken to quietly for her to hear but I had not remembered elvish hearing capabilities.

Runon raised her head and gazed at me with a look somewhere between irritation and amusement. "No. You let things go girl. You wait and watch until you can bear it no longer. Besides, it was good for that youngling and those who think themselves better merely because they are fair of face and strong in magic." She shifted the piece of steel to a new position on the anvil.

"I should have let Eragon sort it out. It was not my fight."

Runon grunted irritably. "You surprise me," said the elf. "You defy and yet you obey. You laugh and yet you cry. You show yourself and yet you hide. No human I have met before is as full as many contradictions. Elves live by such rules and play such games but humans don't have time." She glanced down at the tip of the spear she was crafting. "Perhaps that is why I prefer them."

I shook my head, "I was raised to think of all, no matter race or status, as equal to myself. Rank, skill, power, wealth or beauty does not mean I can claim to be better than someone who does not have those things."

"A noble sentiment," said the smith, "but a hard thing to live by or find." Her eyes were cold, "The world is not kind and most find it easier to protect themselves with such beliefs."

I turned away and gazed at the trees that surrounded us, "Am I bound to act the same?" I twirled on my heel and met her gaze, "I do no have to and so I challenge them. Is that wrong?" I felt the same outrage, the same irritation, which had made me challenge Vanir.

The smith chuckled, "No," she shook her head, "Do not regret your actions. You showed those who are resentful with the new Rider that humans are not all weak. They had forgotten just how strong a mortal is. The Rider will prove himself soon. You needed to do this today."

I sighed, "I have always tried to separate my emotions from my fighting. Today I lost that control."

"And you found yourself stronger because of it," said the smith. "To remain in control, to feel nothing, will not save you when you reach the ends of your strength and find yourself slipping. Emotion can make you weak but it can also make you strong. You will fight harder for yourself and for those you are loyal to because of it. To fear losing yourself in the emotions of battle is to die a statue." I said nothing for I had nothing more to say and Runon would not want to deal with useless prattling and self-centered doubt. The smith turned the spear head around a little and hit it a few times with the hammer before saying, "Well? Why are you still here?"

"No reason," I said with a faint smile and turned to leave.

"I suppose you will be back," said the smith grumpily.

"Probably," I said over my shoulder as I walked away from the smithy and the sounds of metal meeting with hammer resumed again. I stopped and said over my shoulder, "Thank you for reminding me." There was no answer.

* * *

><p>"You fought with Vanir," said Oromis. His voice was not accusing but rather flat and unemotional as he stated a wildly accepted truth that I, the ambassador, had dueled with Vanir and won. Yet, beneath it, I sensed that he wished to understand just why I had done what I done.<p>

"Yes," I said in the same voice not challenging but not agreeing completely. I had come here like the previous night. Dressed in another one my new dresses and bearing only my bow and horn with my small black rock slipped into a pocket I had come to see him.

"I did not expect it from you," said Oromis quietly. "Nor do I understand why you did it."

I felt nothing – no anger or a need to justify my actions – I had returned to my reserved, mask like princess self. "You believe in logic," I said quietly, "you think that logic should be used in each and every situation. You are right." I stopped, "but not all time."

Oromis raised an eyebrow and I continued in the same quiet, level voice. "Logic cannot give you the strength to confront what is wrong and change it. Logic can tell you not to try when you must." A sudden surge of passion gave heady weight to my words, "Is it logic that gives you hope when there is none? Is it logic that empowers those to prove that some things are possible?"

The elf was silent, gazing at me with the same calm mask that he had worn all through this meeting and, for the first time, it hit me the wrong way.

"Let me tell you a story," I said coldly. "In a far distant place there was a Lord of Dead who ruled over a place called Annuvin." Even far away that word caused a cold shiver of dread to run down my spine but I continued. "He had long sought to control the land and finally everything came down to one battle. A battle where the forces of those free to fight were sorely outnumbered but they did not stop. They kept going. They ignored logic which told them they could not win and they choose to face the darkness even though they had no chance of winning." I met the elf's eyes and felt the memories burning within me. "Had they listened to logic they would not have gone. Had they listened to sensible advice they would not have chosen to march for a slim hope of victory. No," I spread my hands before me, "they choose to follow their hearts and fight for what they believed in. They took solace in what they believed – that darkness, hate, cruelty and death would not triumph. I was part of that army. I stood beside my brothers and those who came with us and I know that sometimes the truest acts are ones not made by logic or reason but the ones made by your heart."

I paused and then continued as the passion receded. "I dueled Vanir because what he said was cruel and unfair. I challenged him because he had not just insulted Eragon but me and all those that your people had allied with. I will not tolerate such things especially when so much depends on the unity of humans, elves and dwarves. I concede that Eragon – only him - must prove himself to Vanir but I cannot stand by while someone lives their life in such ignorance." I glanced out one of the windows and saw the golden dragon lying very still on the green grass. He could probably hear each word and would no doubt have his opinion about it all. You might have thought him a sculpture crafted entirely from gold and ivory-white. "I have always been taught to treat all with respect and compassion. I have also been taught to rectify injustices and spread fairness wherever I go. For all those reasons I will not allow myself to feel any regret for interfering this morning."

Oromis sighed heavily, "Once more you surprise me." The elf was silent for a moment, "Your words bear the weight of experience and the authority of your position. I knew that Vanir would try to provoke Eragon but I did not fully realize what having you there would mean."

"Do not apologize to me," I said flatly. "I do not regret my actions and nor do I regret being there."

The elf suddenly shook his head and a small, brief smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Your words may defend the wisdom of listening to one's heart but they are founded in the wisdom of reason."

"Yes," I said quietly, "for I have thought long about it. I have to. For there are times when I have to balance the fates of thousands against the needs of a few or survival of a kingdom. In those circumstances I must count not only logic but what my heart tells me." Thanks to Runon all of that had been hammered home once more as I remembered long ago lessons in hope and love. I fell silent and thought of - like I did nearly every moment – of the weighty responsibility of knowing the future.

Oromis sighed heavily and then said in his level voice. "Do you still wish to speak of your homeland tonight?"

"Yes," I said. It was a relief to move onto that topic and so that was what we did. We spoke of trade not only in my land but in this world. It was a safe topic for both of us and Oromis was both an excellent listener and a willing fountain of knowledge about Alagaesia. It was informative and interesting.

However – you really should be going. So…I will see you later reader. Off you go! Go and live life for me wherever you are. Live fearlessly and live by the things your heart tells you to…

* * *

><p>He was walking beside Arya with Saphira behind them. The group was walking deeper into Du Weldenvarden, down paths tangled with nettles and currant bushes, until the lights around them vanished and they entered the real wild - the wild that lingered around the city and made it known once they had entered its restless world. Eragon had to rely on Saphira's keen night vision so as to not lose his way because the trees here had formed an impenetrable barrier of branches above them. Just when it felt as if they could go no further the forest suddenly opened up.<p>

A lone pine tree stood in the middle of the clearing. No taller than the rest of its brethren, it was thicker than a hundred regular trees combined. Roots radiated outward from it, covering the ground with bark-sheathed veins that made it seem as if the entire forest flowed out from the tree. Maybe it was the heart of this ancient forest – there was something terribly alive and conscious about this tree. It was not natural and even though it seemed like a benevolent matriarch, Eragon was wary of it. The tree was alive. It was thinking and it was old beyond count.

"Behold the Menoa tree," whispered Arya. "We observe the Blood Oath Ceromony in her shade."

A cold tingle crawled down Eragon's spine as he remembered Solembum's words. Saphira also remembered and commented on it though they could not imagine what sort of weapon may be hidden under the roots or in the trunk of this tree. It could even be a part of the tree for all they knew…

As they approached the tree, Eragon's attention was caught by the amount of life that lived among the roots. It made him feel very alone when compared with the number of insects that busied themselves around them. Saphira leapt upwards and settled on a branch high above them – looking for the entire world like a giant blue pigeon. Something that Eragon was careful not to share with her or the elf beside him. Following Arya's example as she sat down on one of the smaller roots he allowed himself to relax.

For a time the elf and the Rider spoke of other things. He told her of Solembum's words on the weapon that was supposed to be hidden here and the Rock of Kuthian. She even shared the story of the Menoa tree and the reason that the tree felt so alive and aware. They were silent for a time before, remembering something he wished to talk with the elf about, Eragon said carefully.

"Do you agree with what Zoe did?"

"I do not know," said Arya with a frown. "I admire her for it. I admire her for showing Vanir and the others on the field what I have come to learn during my travels. My people have forgotten much and become blind to some things."

"But you do not agree with it?"

"No," said Arya, "I am just surprised by it. Zoe rarely shows emotion especially in public and I have never seen her use it in a fight. She showed me today that I had misjudged her and her capabilities."

Eragon was silent for a long moment, "You mean you thought she would be unable to beat Vanir?"

Arya shook her head, "Zoe defeated me in Tronjheim. I have no doubt that her skill in many things is unmatched and she could teach us both many things about politics, trade and strategy." Arya was silent for a moment, "She reminded me that, in the end, she is someone who has been raised to uphold and protect those she cares for. She may not speak of her heritage but if shows - even if one does not know she has a title and a crown."

"I wish it had been me to teach Vanir that lesson," said Eragon wistfully. A hard knot of bitterness had grown within him since he had found himself so incapacitated by Durza's curse. He had yet to experience another attack but he felt as if one was looming on the horizon and he dreaded it. "Vanir is right - how can I be a Rider if I cannot even wield a sword?"

Arya sighed heavily and turned her gaze to meet his. "Zoe was right: courage comes in many forms and in many places. So does strength. One cannot rely on sheer power and might of arms. It is those who can think who will win in the end."

Knowing better than to argue the point any longer he said quietly, "Being home agrees with you."

"It does." The elf was silent and then said, "for the most part. I miss some things about the outside world. Ellesmera is full of memories for me – some good and some bad."

The pair fell silent and sat there for a long time. They sat together at the base of the ancient tree and watched the moon arch high over the peaceful forest before it hid behind the gathering clouds.

Soon Eragon would return with Saphira while Arya returned to Tildari Hall. Zoe was even now speaking with Oromis and far, far away Brom was waiting for Murtagh to return from one of his forays into the capitol city of Surda while, in the same city, a red haired young woman made her way down a street. Even farther away, in a remote mountain village, Roran, cousin to the Eragon, was making a name for himself. In another part of the land, sitting on a black throne, a mad King was brooding and scheming ways of capturing not only the Blue Rider but the dark haired young man who had escaped his clutches.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Some things I want to say: <strong>_

_**1. The timeline in the book is being messed around with a little these last few chapters. Technically Eragon went with Arya and Saphira to Runon and then to the Menoa Tree. I decided to break that up. He also duels with Oromis and then the next day with Vanir. I decided to skip that and get to Vanir. It should get back on track next chapter. **_

_**2. I have skipped parts. To read the story of the Menoa Tree you have to look in the book and if you want to read about Eragon's meeting with Angela then you also have to read the book. Why? Because I want to keep the amount of text I take from the books down and make most of my chapters my own writing. It feels a little less like copying then and, besides, I think most of you guys have read the books and know these things. I try not to skip to many important conversations/scenes however so don't get too worried. **_

_**3. I hope I have kept Runon sort of in character. I wanted this scene but I am worried that people may get worried she was getting out of character. If you think that then let me know! I don't want to make a canon-character like her into an OC. However, there is so little on her that it can make finding out what is OC and what is canon a little tricky. **_

_**4. Nasuada - I have been skipping by chapters with her in favor of writing for Murtagh. If you want me to do some Nasuada chapters then now is the time to let me know. It is up to you guys - the readers - if you want me to include her and the time she spends in Surda as leader of the Varden. **_

_**5. For the record: Murtagh is alive and free. Brom is also alive but Ajihad is dead. These are some of the changes that Zoe has caused during her time here - changes that are making her pretty nervous. **_

_**Alright! Thank you! I just felt I needed to put some things down now and clear up any confusion people might have. Thank you for your reviews :) They were awesome and much appreciated! **_

_**Replies: **_

_**live laugh play music: Thank you! I hope you enjoy the sparring match :) **_

_**M.X.M World Traveler: It is kind of amazing how this story has come along...surprises me every time I write for it! As for Angela...I am trying to keep her shadowy. She is powerful - everyone knows that - and I am sure she knows much more about everything then she lets on. Maybe she is and maybe she isn't...I have not thought that far ahead with her character. We will see when we get there! Thank you once more for you reviews and suggestions - they are very awesome! :) I have thought about making a story for Zoe...but if that does happen it will be after I finish this fic. Thank you again! **_

_**Chris: The stone was back :) As for the darkness in Zoe's world...I hope I sort of explained that in this chapter. If not then I will directly address it in the next chapter. **_

_**KitKat: Nice to see you again! :) Glad you liked the last chapter! hope you enjoy this one...**_


	46. Chapter 46

Eragon had the unfortunate experience of being awoken by a strong gust of wind. A summer thunderstorm had blown in and the wind was something fierce. It was whipping around the tree house, scattering things left and right as it blasted inside. The entire tree was shivering and swaying like a ship might during rough seas.

The blankets were suddenly wrenched off of him and the freezing wind brought him fully awake. Outside, the sky was black with thunderheads and the light of the moon was a flickering light as the clouds raced across it. Eragon staggered upright only to almost fall down again as the tree lurched to side. What wouldn't he give for a stone foundation!

Saphira watched him as he made his way from the bed to the teardrop portal through which the storm howled. With no light to see by he had to feel with his fingers for the cloth membrane that could be pulled out of the wood to cover the opening. Steeling his nerves and trying not to look down, he prepared to try and cross from one side of the gap to the next. One slip and he would be sent down towards the forest floor far, far below. What was wrong with houses on the ground again?

_Wait,_said Saphira.

She left the comfortable nest where she slept and laid her tail alongside him to act as guardrail. So, with one hand pulling the cloth and the other firmly gripping her tail, he moved across the gap and was able to secure the fabric. The sudden silence that fell made Eragon realize how hard he was breathing and he glanced around his room. He groaned at the sight of it. Papers were strewn around along with other objects and he did not look forward to setting it all to rights. He supposed he could just leave it but that seemed the wrong thing to do – after all he was staying in Vrael's old tree and he did not need 'messy' being added to his current list of attributes.

_What of the study? _Asked Saphira suddenly, _the door there is open. _

_You are right! _Said Eragon and without waiting he hurried to the stairs that led to the study. How could he have forgotten?

Sure enough the place was a mess of flying papers and everything was in complete disarray. The chair from the desk had been blown against one wall and the beautifully weaved rug on the floor was lifting up everytime it was caught by a new gust of wind. Along with the wind was a driving rain and already the floor in front of the tear drop opening was damp.

Eragon grabbed the membrane and was able to pull it across. This one was smaller and it was easier to manage then the one downstairs had been. However, just as he prepared to step away after fastening it, he twisted his back. He had been just about to turn and return to Saphira - just as he stepped back and turned in a way that he had never turned before – agony burst across his back.

He fell from the force of it. His vision tunneling as the fire spread the length of his back. He could hear Saphira, her frantic calling and pleas for him but he could not formulate a response. Blackness. The thud of his heart and the pounding of the pain. The flickering lights that crossed his vision the long he lay there like bright fireworks. Everything was too much. It was sweeping up and he felt the release as it caught him and suddenly he knew no more.

His last thought was how easy it was to give in. To let go rather then hold on.

He woke on the floor of the study. The wind was still howling outside but inside the once orderly study, the air was still and quiet. He could hear his own breaths coming in raspy gasps as he opened his eyes. A single weyr light above him illuminated the room and made him wince from the brightness. His head ached and his mouth was dry as if he had been screaming. Maybe he had - it had hurt that much but he hoped not. He hoped he weathered that storm silently.

_Eragon! _her voice was a mix of relief and fear. The warmth of her mind and her love soothing him as she enveloped him as if she would never let him go.

For a second he wondered why she was so frightened – his Saphira was never frightened – until he remembered. _Saphira. _He whispered the word back to her and felt her relax slightly. _I will try to come to you. _

He tried to move. Forcing himself to ignore the weakness and lingering pain that made his muscles unresponsive, Eragon pushed himself upright. This was by far the worst attack he had ever experienced. The ones which had struck him in Farthen Dur had hurt but nothing like this and he had not blacked out because of them. Those ones had left him gasping for breath.

Gathering his strength he stood and was pleased to find he was steady on his feet and able to walk to the doorway that led to the curved stairs. He moved slowly but he was able to move and the more he did the less everything hurt.

Saphira was waiting for him. Her blue eyes a mix of furious anger, pain and above all, fear. Fear for him for she had felt his agony but nothing she did could help him. Eragon knew how much she hated to be helpless and these attacks were only for him to endure. Nothing she did could save him from it and for that he was rather grateful – he did not want her to experience it to. She had to be doubly strong now for both of them.

He noticed, as he sank down to sit on the last step of the stairs, that she had scratched the wood around the stairs in her desperation to reach him. _You didn't fit. _he told her with a smile.

_No, _she grumbled. _I didn't. _

_What would have happened if you got stuck? _The idea of telling the elves that his dragon was stuck in their tree house made a brief smile flash across his face. The sudden image bringing all little lightness to the seriousness of the situation.

_Very funny, _she sniffed and then she said rather hestitantly, _I called for Zoe. _

_You what? _He demanded suddenly sitting very straight despite the brief spasm of pain it sent across his back. _Why did you do that? _He did not want his friend right now – what could she do? The only thing Eragon wanted was to be alone and try and forget about the attack. He did not want to speak of it with his friend who could only offer words and nothing more.

Saphira shifted uncomfortably, _I could not reach you. I panicked and called out to her. _

He sighed, taking it out on Saphira would not change anything but that did not change the fact that Eragon did not want to see anyone. An uneasy silence fell over the pair of them. Saphira trying to comfort him with warm waves of love and calm through their bond but also knowing that she had angered him with her summoning of Zoe. Meanwhile, still sitting on the stair, Eragon brooded over the sudden and unexpected return of his curse. He had no warning and nothing to even signal what was about to happen. That, above the pain and the consequences of his infirmity, made him frightened. Would it get to the point that he could not even walk?

Suddenly the door opened and Eragon looked up from his place on the stairs to see Zoe. She was dripping water from a heavy black cloak and her hair, when she removed her hood, fell unbound down to the middle of her back. A few strands of it curled from the rain around her pale face.

"Eragon?" she asked the concern in her voice making him shift. It was embarrassing to have her come like this – at this time of night – for no reason other than he had experienced an episode. He gave Saphira another glare but she ignored him.

"Zoe," he hoped his voice was not as raspy as he feared it was.

She was gazing at him with those discerning eyes that must see the paleness to his face, the way he sat as if trying to avoid movement on the lowest step that led to his study. Zoe raised an eyebrow and walked over to him. "Eragon," she said as she came to a stop in front of him. Casting her wet cloak over a chair, she sat down beside him on the staircase. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine now," he said just as quietly.

"What happened?" asked the girl as she glanced at the silent dragon.

_Eragon had another attack, _said the blue dragon from her soft cushioned bed.

"How bad?" said Zoe her eyes flickering from Eragon to Saphira.

"The worst yet," said the Rider remembering the fiery pain that had sent him spinning into darkness. "I didn't even know it was coming."

Zoe sighed heavily and wrapped her arms around herself. They were both silent for a long time until Eragon said quietly, "You didn't have to come."

She shook her head firmly, "Yes I did. You're my friend Eragon. Friends stand by each other."

"Like with Vanir?" his voice sharpened a little. The return of the curse was coupled by his fierce desire to prove himself and remembering how Zoe had stepped in the previous day made his already short temper flare. Both Zoe and Saphira seemed determined to fight all his battles for him and, adding insult to injury, it seemed he needed all of their assistance.

The young woman sighed and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I will help you as much as I can," she said softly. "But you are right; in the end it must be you. Only you."

"How can you help me?" asked Eragon softly. "You cannot remove this curse. You cannot make me as swift as an elf or as strong as Galbatorix."

"No," she said, "nor would I give you that if I could." Eragon raised his head and gazed at her in surprise – he was unsure how to feel at those words. They were delivered with such finality, the fullness of their meaning almost escaping him.

Zoe continued, "You must find your own way Eragon. What you learn for yourself you will have forever. The skills you gain, the battles you win, the things you learn – you must work for them. If you do not then you will never feel like you truly deserve the rewards."

He had heard those words before. He knew they were true and that Zoe was right but that did not make it easier right then instead it merely seemed to make everything more unfair. "Why?" he snapped at her half hoping to hurt her and inflict a little of what he felt on his friend. "Why must it always be like this?"

Zoe just shrugged, "Why? If I knew the answer to that then I would not ask it of myself every single day. It is never easy to be chosen. It has and never will be easy to be called and to come willingly." She traced a pattern on the smooth, swirled wood of the floor and sighed heavily as if making a choice. "I can teach you some things. If you want." Zoe raised her eyes and met his, her grey eyes looked older and sadder then he had ever seen them look before. Suddenly all of his ire faded as he remembered that she had seen far more then he had and she also carried heavy burdens. It was not right for him to take out his frustration on her and a feeling of regret grew within him.

"What can you teach me?" he asked softly. He hoped she saw the apology in his face and heard it in his words.

"There are ways of fighting," she paused and then continued, "that may help you. Ways to fall, to duck and weave that will make you a more difficult target. I warn you though: they are not honorable fighting techniques you would normally learn. You will have to forget about honor if you wish to master them."

"You want to teach me how to fight underhand?" asked the Rider. He was stunned; here was Zoe – a princess – offering to teach him the tricks that no honorable or noble fighter would ever stoop to. Yet, he considered it; with his back the only way he may stand a chance was to learn these tricks. He needed to learn how to conserve his strength and the only way to do that was to learn something different. For, he rationalized, he would not always fight against those who felt a swift kick or knife to the side was beneath them. He might as well know how to match them if he ever had to. Murtagh knew how to and so did Brom – maybe even Arya to.

Zoë gave a faint, half-hearted attempt at a grin. "Even if you never use them you may find them helpful in some situations."

"When could we start?" asked the Rider suddenly rather eager to learn these tricks despite the part of him that disapproved and sounded suspiciously like Brom. Murtagh had taught him a few moves related to how to duel and conceal a small knife but nothing more.

Of course the offer did make him wonder where she had learned such things. Surely such underhand and, usually, frowned upon moves would never have been part of her education? Besides Zoe valued fairness and such fighting techniques were not based on fairness or any other kind of rule. Perhaps, like Arya had said the previous night at the Menoa Tree, Zoe had many more sides then she bothered to show them.

Zoe considered it for a long moment before speaking slowly as she thought of it. "You duel with Vanir in the mornings and then spend the day with Oromis. I have agreed to meet him right after you leave and we speak for an hour or so. After that I think. Every evening before you do your reading we can meet. There is a small clearing not far from here that would serve us quite nicely. We won't practice long."

"Thank you," said Eragon softly. He was not just expressing his gratitude for this but for her coming. For her caring enough that she would forsake her own bed and come to comfort him. That she cared enough to let him walk his own path and yet still offered assistance when he needed it. That she, despite his angry words, knew him well enough to know why they were spoken and why he felt the way he did.

Zoe smiled and hugged him tightly with one arm, "Do not mention it." She glanced up and said with a small laugh, "I will leave you though. I have need of sleep after all that occurred yesterday."

"You could just stay here," pointed out Eragon as she withdrew her arm and they both rose, he gingerly as his muscles had grown stiff and sore.

Zoe shook her head, "I can't do that. For one thing all my clothes are in my rooms and the other is that I don't want things that are not true being invented."

Eragon colored slightly as she realized the meaning of her words. Of course Zoe would think that far ahead and had probably had experience with the rumor mill enough to make her wary. "Ah," he said without meeting her gaze as color flooded his cheeks.

Zoe chuckled and rested a hand on his shoulder, "Don't fret about it. Besides I enjoy walking in the rain."

Eragon looked at her in surprise. "You do?" he was shocked. Who in the world enjoyed walking in the rain?

"Yes," said his friend, "I have even danced in it before." Eragon could not stop his snort of amusement and that made Zoe roll her eyes. "You should try it one day," she said teasingly, "I promise there is nothing more fun or uplifting then dancing in a thunderstorm."

"You're the one who worries about what people might say,"  
>said Eragon with a laugh. "Yet you like to dance in a thunderstorm?" As a child he may have indulged in such things but now he would feel too self-conscious and embarrassed to ever enjoy it.<p>

"Oh please," said Zoe as she made her way over to the chair on which her cloak was draped. "I am no so stuck up as you might think. Nor do I spend all my time wondering what other people think of me. Or at least I try not to." Zoe pulled the cloak off the back of the chair and swung it around the thin, white dress. It was clearly her traveling cloak for there were a few rips in the heavy, black cloth and more than one stain. "If you do worry too much about how others might think of you then you will become unable to act naturally." She turned to leave and was almost to the door when a sudden question grew in Eragon's mind.

"What else did you want to teach me?" blurted Eragon before he could reconsider his words. He sensed she could offer more – just as Arya had said she could. There was more to Zoe than weapons and perfect manners. It was whether she was willing to share it with him or felt he was ready to learn it. Zoe never liked to sit him down and teach except for when it was writing or language. The rest of the time she was merely sharing things or pointing something out that he had not seen before. It was a quiet kind of teaching; much more of a discussion then a lesson like Brom or Oromis gave him.

Zoe looked surprised. Almost like someone who has never thought about something and then suddenly is asked it. Her hand rested on the door knob and she was very quiet for a long minute. "I suppose," she said quietly, "I could teach what it means to lead." Zoe turned and looked at him long and hard, "How to speak to a crowd, how to organize a meeting so that you and your allies have every chance of success. How to look and act with those you must turn to your side." Zoe fell silent and said quietly, "I could teach you that."

It was a surprising offer and Eragon was silent for a long time. She was offering to teach him how to be like her – how to smile at your worst enemy, how to listen for hours on end without showing your impatience, how to manage a crowd and how to inspire with a smile. They were the lessons in kingship handed down from ruler to ruler from lord to lord. Things that no farmer would ever need to know but maybe a Rider should. Maybe now that he moved among the highest powers in the land - among the subtle and not-so subtle games of power where kings, queens, ladies and lords all jockeyed for control – he should know these things.

"You would teach me that?" asked the Rider both flattered that she would offer and also stunned.

"Oromis is starting to teach you much of it," she said quietly, "but I can teach you things that no Rider would have reason to learn." A small smile flickered across her face, "You may find them useful skills to have."

He gazed at her silently, trying to come to terms with the reminder of this other side to his friend. Zoe was a wealth of knowledge and experience but it was easy to forget that she was older than she appeared. She was no sixteen year old girl who gazed at the world with wide-eyes that took everything in with wonder – a look Eragon felt he often adopted. It was easy to forget that beneath that youthful face was the calculating mind of a strategist and the fierce commitment of a leader. Zoe did not flaunt herself and he could count on one hand the number of times she had spoken of her birth rights to him. In fact she had not even shared it with Brom and it was only on the way to Du Weldenvarden that she had revealed it to him.

"I would be honored," he said quietly, "to learn whatever you can teach me."

Zoe laughed; it was a musical sound that blended in with the thundering rain drops and shrieking wind. "Ah Eragon," she said with a warm smile, "Thank me some other day."

The girl looked over at Saphira who puffed a little smoke at her, _I don't think such lessons would be useful for me. Subtly is not a dragon's strong point. _

_"_No,_" _replied Zoe with a small laugh, "But who knows? Dragons are not all fire and claws!"

Saphira snorted with amusement, _Some would beg to differ. _

"Only your enemies," said Zoe lightly and Eragon gave a quiet laugh despite himself as a previous experience made him forget, for a moment, his heavy thoughts and the ache of his body.

"Remember that day when you snapped at Arya, Brom and Ajihad?" Eragon himself would never forget it – the claustrophobic study in which Arya had been pulling them one way and Ajihad the other. It had been his first foray into a game where he and Saphira were valuable objects being tugged from one side to the other. Brom had left them to cope on their own and they had.

_Of course, _said Saphira, _I meant every word. Now I can reinforce them with fire. _

"Dragons," said Zoe fondly, "oh dragons. You either love them or hate them." Saphira chuckled and so did Eragon. With one last smile the girl left the Rider and his dragon for the stormy weather outside, drawing the hood of her cloak over her dark hair as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

><p>It was true - what I had told Eragon. I did love being out in the rain. Maybe because after it rains everything is greener and more alive than before. This was a thunderstorm and while the wind was bitter and made the trees around me groan in protest I did not care. I like the wild freedom of a summer storm. It is a reminder of how strong nature is and why it should be respected.<p>

The shadows were thick and my cloak was black so I had little fear of being seen. Perhaps because of that I took my time. I walked on the soft, dry ground beneath giant trees as well as in the open where no canopy broke the rain's plummeting fall to ground where my elvish boots made slight indents in the ground. As I walked I admired the flashes of lightning that would briefly illuminate the world around me. I felt the shaking rolls of thunder and the energy that surrounded me – a wild energy that made everything tremble and my own heart thrum to be a part of it.

It was hard to imagine that I was actually in the middle of a city. That the trees I passed were actually houses or that some were parts of grand halls and palaces. Things were so dark and no weyr lights illuminated it and so I was free to imagine that I was not in a city but alone in a forest.

My walk back to Tildari Hall was too short by my count. You must know how it feels – to wish that something would not end and you will never reach your destination but just keep on traveling like this. That was how I felt now.

When I returned to my apartments I walked over to the windows with their comfortable seats. Shedding my cloak I sat down on one of the seats and drew a soft blanket around myself to keep away the chill that being out in the storm had left me with. Leaning back and feeling quite warm and safe, I gazed out at the stormy night through the clear pane of glass. I could return to my bed and I probably should. I was tired and sore from my duel with Vanir but I could not summon the will power to leave the warm nest I had made for myself. Even before Saphira had called me I had not been asleep – too worried about what I might experience to fall asleep no matter how many times I told myself to.

Slowly, creeping up on me, sleep came over me and I found myself back in my dreams. Maybe it was because of my time spent outside or the sounds of rain, wind and thunder outside that made it possible for me to relax enough. The memories of the past flowing around me like brief snap shots in time. These were good memories, simple ones that had little to do with the nightmares that I experienced the last time I had tried to sleep.

However, just as I felt myself starting to wake as my thoughts became more aware and I felt myself rising out of the darkness I heard a voice. A distinctly dragon voice – hard and gravely – a voice that was ancient and deep that echoed as if over a great distance. _You are the girl. _

I could sense the very edges of the voice's consciousness but the second I reached for it I found myself unable to reach it. It was too far away and I was not powerful enough to reach across the distance that separated me from this - well I suppose it must be even though that is ridiculously far fetched - dragon.

_Who are you? _I called back to the rapidly fading consciousness.

_Be ready. Be ready girl. _The words were so faint I nearly did not catch them and my mind was still befuddled from sleep. But I did catch them. I heard them and I wondered. _Be ready._ I opened my eyes to a sunny room in Du Weldenvarden but my mind was far away. The voice of the dragon echoed through my mind.

It was such a vague thing to say reader. To be ready can mean so many things – you can be ready to sleep or go to war. Yet I would not forget them or the voice that they had been spoken to me in. I looked out of the window I was still leaning against at the garden which seemed to glitter after the rain storm the previous night.

I felt a little bit of power stir in me. It was easy to forget what was coming in this peaceful place but I felt awake again. I could hear the clock ticking down and feel the storm on the horizon. I, just as much as Eragon and Saphira, needed to prepare. I needed to remember everything from the spells that let me control my magic to the dark nightmare memories that had so terrified me. I did not have time to let them come back slowly because all of those things - from the good to the bad – made me up and I needed them back. Even if it meant remembering all the friends who had died by my side and all the lives I had failed to save. Even if remembering hurt just as much as when I had experienced those things. It was not right to forget those sacrifices nor the people who had made them and I would, for both their sakes and my own, remember.

Filled with new resolve I rose from my half sitting, half lying position on the comfortable window seat. I would be ready. _Be ready… _

* * *

><p><strong><em>Hello there! Here is another chapter for you guys. I had hoped to get it up on Friday but my life has been complicated and Friday was not a good day - neither was Saturday so I am making myself feel better by writing fan ficition and hoping for reviews :) <em>**

**_Anyways - I did promise to get back to the book timeline and that is what I did here. Hope I managed to stay semi-original while I was at it. _**

**_I also want to say this: I did not intend to create a MurtaghxOC romance but it developed into one. I understand that it is an overused idea and that people would probably prefer if I stayed out of that territory. However, because I have already developed it to this point, I am going to keep it this way :( I am sorry and I totally understand where you guys are coming from...I can only hope that I can make it a more original romance. _**

**_Response:_**

**_live laugh play music: I am glad you enjoyed the sparring match. :) Thank you for the review!_**

**_GaaraSandNiN: Thank you! :) I like writing it to! _**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: Yes well I can tell you it was a 50/50 choice. I totally was not sure it was a good idea because I was not sure what it would do to Zoe's image but I did it. Guess I will see where it takes me...I thought I had better tell readers about the timeline just to prevent confusion :) hope you like this chapter! _**

**_Princess Kassie: Thank you :) it was pretty rough at the beginning and I will probably go back and redo it one day...hope you enjoy this one!_**

**_KitKat: Glad you liked that chapter! :) it is a little faster I guess...I am trying to keep it going right now so it doesn't sit around! _**

**_wakeupandlive: Don't worry! There will be more aryaxeragon time I just want it to be a slower development. They will be together - spending time in the city - in the next few chapters. I like to think of it as friends and then something more instead of sort-of-friends and then sudden romantic feelings from Eragon. Glad you like it! :)_**

**_Chris: Thank you for your questions :) they are good for me to think about...I guess I imagine the 'Lord of the Dead' as something similar to Sauron from Lord of the Rings but a better idea would be from the Chronicles of Prydain. Not human for sure and something that gets into pretty dark magic. I think of the darkness as a constant - in the background - that because of circumstances that Zoe will remember was able to surge back. _****_As for the 'powers' that Zoe hints at...they will probably show up at the end of the story. They aren't really gods but they are immortal and they don't like to just step in and 'fix' something but influence fate/destiny by using people like Zoe. I am sure it is possible to go to more worlds if you know how to use the gates. :) also about that scene with Vanir...I did not write the fight because I wanted the scene to be about the emotions/beliefs/opinions that clashed when Vanir insulted Eragon. Instead of it being about a duel with swords...hope that sort of makes sense! Thank you again! _**

**_mininami28: I am sorry about the murtaghxoc...I really never intended to write one but the story developed that way and I am sorry about it. I hope I can at least make it a good murtaghxoc story and there will plenty more going on then romance. Zoe and Murtagh have too many responsibilites and are too mature (hear that guys!) to go forgetting themselves in the middle of a war. I am glad you enjoy the rest of the story! :) thank you for the review! _**


	47. Chapter 47

The memory of the pain – the sudden return of his curse – made it difficult for Eragon to calm down enough to focus on his meditation that morning. For it did require focus – the most difficult kind – and the events of the past few hours were making it difficult. Yet, the longer he sat there, the more he found all his tension, his fears and worries disappear. One cannot remain like that forever and the peace of his surroundings eased the tense knot of worry, fear, anger and other turbulent emotions faster than Eragon had expected.

He had woken that morning sore from both his attack and the elves' Dance of Snake and Crane which were a set of exercises meant to improve his flexibility and strength. Saphira had tried to comfort him but the best he could manage was a weak smile and then quickly changed the subject. An hour of sparring with Vanir had then occurred – he had held his own well enough and to his relief he had not experienced another episode. Though he could not shake the feeling that the injury would strike him again and soon; that thought had made him more cautious with his sword then he would have been otherwise. Vanir, since his duel with Zoe, he had never openly called him a coward and had been more civil. Yet, Eragon could still sense the elf's contempt and he had done his best to ignore the few pointed barbs the warrior had aimed at him.

The longer Eragon sat there, his mind open and yet guarded, the more he found himself returning to a sense of balance. He could still not manage any thing longer than a few seconds of complete openness but it was getting easier to reach that state and hold it. Eragon supposed it would take time just as learning a sword had taken time. When he was able to briefly grasp that feeling the amount of life around him would make him feel very small. The trees, the animals, the insects and plants all bright points of life around him. Their thoughts distinct to each individual and yet sharing similar needs to.

As he sat there he considered the duels with Vanir. The elf was young and he was proud. Perhaps Oromis wanted Eragon to reach out to other elves but maybe he was hoping to show his brethren that they had been too harsh in their judgement of all mortals. Or maybe Eragon was just reading too deep into the situation and indeed, what was the point in knowing why he had to duel with Vanir ever morning?

When his assigned time had come to a close the Rider rose and left the clearing. His head was clearer and more settled as he entered the small cottage where his teacher was awaiting him.

"Well?" inquired the silver-haired elf. "How did you do today?"

Eragon shrugged and said with a rueful smile, "I think I benefited more from the peace of the clearing then from the continuation of my learning."

Oromis chuckled, "I thought that might be the case. Why were you so troubled?"

"Many reasons," said Eragon quietly, "my back troubled me again last night and other thoughts have been on my mind."

"Ah, you have my sympathy then Eragon." The Rider looked him over with those piercing eyes and then told him, "Have a seat."

The younger Rider accepted the chair and examined the various scrolls spread over the table with an interested eye. His musings were interrupted by a surprising question that sent his mind reeling.

"Why do you fight?" asked Oromis. He might have been asking about the weather and his hands never stopped in their smooth movements as he drew upon the cream colored parchment.

Eragon stared at the elf – unable to say anything for it was such a deep, searching question and his answer was too complicated to just say. Why did he fight? Why did he go to war and risk both his own life and, more importantly, Saphira's? He fingered a quill as he considered it silently, aware as he did so, that he had to give a strong answer because he needed to know it just as much as he needed one for his teacher.

When he spoke, his words came slowly. "I never really thought about it before. Whenever I did it was because of personal reasons. My family, what remains of it, and those who struggle as slaves or poor farmers with no chance of a better life." The young Rider fell silent, "Yet those suddenly seem like poor reasons to sacrifice so many lives and hopes for. I cannot ask a thousand men to die for my family or people they have never met."

"No," said Oromis, "you must appeal to the things they want. But that is another question with another answer. I want you to tell me why you - only you - fight and why you do it." The elf traced the rim of his tea cup, "You do not strike me as a person who enjoys war or really ever wanted to be a part of it."

Eragon shook his head, "I did when I did not know what it meant." He was silent and then said after a moment's more thought. "I guess I have two reasons. The first is because of Saphira and what Galbatorix did to the dragons. The second is because I have seen terrible injustices in the Empire that have affected not only those I care for but others who I may not know but wish to help."

"Are those reasons able to stand the test of what is to come?" The Rider leaned forward, his silver eyes meeting Eragon's and freezing the young Rider in place, forcing him to confront the question and consider it.

Eragon fiddled with the soft quill, "They are." He raised his eyes and met Oromis's silver ones, "At least right now they feel that way. For Saphira, for those who have suffered more then I ever have, I will fight."

Oromis was gazing at him with a strange look in his eyes. Maybe it was one of almost respect, of acknowledgment, or maybe he was merely revaulting him. When the Rider finally spoke his words were even and his voice soft, "Keep those reasons in mind Eragon."

"So what?" asked the young Rider. "For justifying the deaths I will be responsible for?" Eragon could not stop the faint note of bitter anger that the idea roused in him and he knew Oromis heard it. The softening the older elf's face told him that.

"All those who face such things ask themselves that question." The Rider folded his hands in his lap and gazed out on of the windows, "Your friend, Zoe, understands this better then most. As does Arya, Brom and many others who have seen war and made decisions that affect more then just themselves."

Eragon had not spoken of Zoe with Oromis. It was an awkward topic for the Rider after hiding so much from his teacher about Zoe's role in his life. Now, even though Oromis had brought her up, he still felt uncomfortable speaking of her. Not looking at his teacher, Eragon said quietly, "Why did you ask me this question?"

Oromis moved around his small kitchen, pulling a loaf of freshly baked bread and a pair of bowls that he ladled full of a vegetable stew that had been simmering in a pot hung over a bed of coals in the corner fireplace. The answer was long in coming but Eragon was used to such silences and merely waited – quietly – in his seat at the table.

"You are still new to the world of gramarye – as magic is properly called – but you must begin to consider its full implications. To understand it you must know yourself and be able to separate yourself from emotions. If you can think analytically then you will be able to find paths that someone blinded by a clouded mind cannot see." The ef paused and then continued, "To teach you how to think clearly I will ask you questions."

Eragon was silent as he ate a little of the stew Oromis had given him. When he finally answered his voice was cautious, "So you will purposely ask me questions that have no easy answer?"

"Yes," said the elf with a razor thin smile.

"May I ask a question?" said Eragon suddenly.

Oromis dipped his head and said, "Proceed."

"I believe I have an answer for it," said Eragon as he gazed at the scrolls in their neat shelves. "Yet I cannot help think of why I meditate. I can see the uses of being able to open my mind without losing awareness. In battle and when I am surrounded by thousands of minds it is not so different from being in the clearing with all the animals and plants around me." The young Rider paused and stirred his stew as he considered the best way to put his thoughts. "Am I correct? Is this why I meditate everday?"

Oromis was looking at him with that strange, half approving and half amused look that made Eragon shift uneasily. "Yes," he said at last, "you are. The greatest danger you are likely to encounter during the Varden's campaign will come from fellow magicians. You know as well as I how difficult it is to guard against magic but if you are aware of the people around you will be able to identify anyone who means you or those around you harm."

"It seems dangerous to leave myself open," said Eragon candidly. "Another magician will know I have touched their mind and retaliate or shield their thoughts from me."

"Yet then you will know you have found a magician. It is better to be aware then blind to the world." The elf shrugged, "Brom taught you much and so has experience. However, this tool is still something you need to master and to master you must be ready for it. You are ready for it now."

"Zoe has taught me much. So has Murtagh," Eragon met his teacher's eyes and the other nodded.

"You have been fortunate to be surrounded by those who have walked many paths. Now," the elf glanced at the scrolls that had been neatly piled on the other end of table while they ate. "It is time to continue your learning of other things."

* * *

><p>"How was it with Oromis-elda?" asked Arya as the two walked through the forest. Once more Saphira had chosen to remain behind for she was exhausted after an intensive day with Glaedr who, according to her, was determined to make her fly until she 'dropped.' The elf and the Rider were walking to Tialdari Hall where Arya had expressed a wish to show him the gardens.<p>

"Well," said Eragon. After a moment longer of quiet walking down the path the Rider continued, "He asked me why I fought."

Arya glanced at him and then said, "What did you say?"

Eragon was not sure what to say for he did not want Arya disagreeing with his answer and yet he wanted her opinion on the matter. He was still not fully satisfied with it and he felt that, in the long run, it would need to be better if it was to survive the blood bath that was to come. "I said I fought for those who had sacrificed far more then I. For the dragons and those I love."

Arya was silent for a long moment and so Eragon choose to admire the grand Halls they were passing by with their magnificent trees and gardens. The elf's voice pulled him back as she said, "I sense that you still wish to improve your answer."

"Yes," said Eragon quietly, "but that, I think, will take time and more experience."

"You are right," she said seriously and her green eyes were heavy upon his face. "It is an answer that one cannot give until one understands the fullness of the situation. Sometimes you must be in the middle of it before that understanding comes."

They were silent for a long moment until Arya said, "I sparred with Zoe today and she mentioned that she would be assisting you in your sword play."

Eragon looked down at the ground and then he nodded, "Yes. She has."

Arya laughed lightly, "Though she did say you would have to forget your honor."

Eragon looked over and found Arya's green eyes sparkling with amusement and he could not help but smile openly back. "Yes," he agreed with a laugh of his own, "she warned me of it."

"It will be good for you," said Arya looking forward again, "to learn such things. They are valuable skills to have."

The elf came to a halt. They had arrived at a ribbed lancet arch – grown between two trees – which served as the entrance to graceful palace. On the other side of the arch was a vast flower garden arranged to look as pristine and natural as a wild meadow. Though it was impossible to imagine a wild meadow having so many varieties of flowers which, Eragon knew, probably would not have grown here without magic and the care bestowed upon them. Gemlike weyr lights floated here and there and swirling fireflies flitted from one side of the garden to the other.

"Come," said Arya with a small smile at his wondering look of admiration. "I have something to show you."  
>He followed her among the flowers, careful as he did so, not to step on one of the delicate blooms. Arya came to a stop next to a weeping willow whose branches trailed all the way to the ground. The tree had a peaceful air to it as if it had seen many things and welcomed all those who stopped beside it. Its leaves rustled softly as Arya pushed the trailing branches aside and beckoned Eragon to follow. Stepping beside her he entered the protected, darkened tent created by the tree. It was very quiet underneath the branches, no sound reached them here and suddenly Eragon was very aware of Arya's warm presence beside him as she moved forward and knelt on the ground.<p>

Following, the young Rider sank down and looked for what Arya so wanted to show him. It was then that he saw it. A flower was growing among the roots of the willow. It was a dark blue, an indigo, at the tips of its closed petals and then the blue lightened the closer it got to the stem. Arya gently cupped the bloom in her hands and murmured, "Open."

The petals unfurled, fanning their inky wings to show a bright blue centre that traveled up the sides of the petals and then slowly changed to the indigo. It was like the change one might see when one moved from deep dark blue to shallower brighter waters. For a second Eragon felt as if he was falling into those blue depths and then he looked away, reminded of the crystal clear waters of the streams that flowed in the Spine. The flower conjured up images of the days he had spent hunting in those mountains, walking the game trails and passing by deep still pools that seemed to have no end. It reminded him of Saphira, of the change from light to dark and then dark to light.

"It is beautiful isn't it," said Arya softly beside him.

He looked at the elf. She was sitting close to him, close enough for him to see the various highlights that twisted through her inky black hair. He was close enough to smell the scent that hung around her, the scent of pine trees and crisp parchment papers. Her face was gazing straight ahead and it gave him a chance to examine her profile with its smooth angles and high cheekbones that were so different from the softer, rounder features of the women he had grown up looking at. Arya was different – exotic and beautiful like the flower she had taken the time to show him.

It was startling to suddenly realize how much he enjoyed spending time with the elf princess. He had found her so unreachable and aloof when they had first met after Gil'ead. Slowly they had warmed to each other and become allies, friends even, as they traveled and fought together. This feeling stirring inside of him was strange; it both warmed him and yet sent a shiver down his spine.

Looking back to the flower he felt the emotions, the homesickness, the nostalgia and these new ones that he had never felt before, spinning around inside of him. It was making it difficult to say anything in reply for what could you say? What words would describe a flower, just a little flower, which seemed to have elicited such memories and emotions inside of him?

Sighing Eragon said quietly, "It is very beautiful." Yet the words did not, could not, describe what he saw when he looked at the inky depths of the flower that changed to light as his gazed moved inward.

Arya glanced at him and asked quietly, "What are you thinking?"

He smiled ever so slightly, "It just reminds me of home – or what used to be my home. It reminds me of many things."

Arya's eyes were endless forest green depths that he found himself falling into. They were considering him but he did not feel like he had to hide anything – she would see him and judge him fairly. There was no point trying to be anything else but his own self with the elf for she had decades of experience judging character and she would see his attempts. So he just stared back into her eyes and let the silence between them lengthen.

She broke the silence first, "Faolin created it for me. Before we left for the Varden the first time. It to reminds me of home and I carried its image with me." Her voice was very soft and in it he heard things that made him wish he could comfort her. He had never met Faolin and yet he owed the dead elf for Saphira in some ways but, because he was still so young and inexperienced in so many things, he could not offer comforting words. So, instead, he just said quietly.

"Thank you for showing it to me," the elf smiled slightly at him as though grateful he had not tried to comfort her or ask anything more. Glancing down at the flower again, Eragon said in an even softer voice, "there is a flower like it back in Palancar Valley. Not as blue or anything but of similar shape. It reminds me of the Spine this flower."

Arya's smile grew and she rose from the ground he followed suit. "Really? You will have to tell me more about your home Eragon. You have spoken of it little."

He was surprised for a moment and then he smiled a little wider, "I would enjoy it." He would to. Arya understood about leaving - about being forced to cut yourself free - and to tell her about his childhood was no painful thing when one knew you would be listened to. Perhaps she to would speak of her life to him.

The two of them left the weeping willow and Arya led him back to his own tree house. They spoke of small things, of the plants that grew in the forest around them. Of the way Arya's people had organized the city and many other things – small things that mattered little but eased the memories and emotions that the small little flower underneath a weeping willow had elicited in both of them.

When Eragon and Arya arrived back at the tree house that Eragon and Saphira used, they found Saphira spread out on the ground with Zoe - who was looking remarkably carefree - laughing on her front leg. The two looked up at the returning pair and a wide smirk grew on Zoe's face. Beside him Arya groaned and whispered, "What do you think Zoe will tease us both of for the next few months?"

Eragon chuckled, "I couldn't imagine."

"You're back!" said Zoe with laugh as she rose from Saphira's leg.

"Yes," said Arya who quickly embraced Zoe before turning to Eragon and saying, "I will leave the pair of you. Till next we meet." She nodded to Saphira and then disappeared among the trees leaving Zoe, still smirking at him, and Saphira who had the satisfied look of a cat with a mouse.

"Are you ready?" asked Zoe. "Or would you rather keep staring after her?"

Color rushed to Eragon's face as he cast his friend a glare but, wisely, he chose to ignore the teasing jab. "Whenever you are," he said as evenly as he could.

_Did you enjoy your time with Arya? _Asked Saphira.

_Yes, _he said with a small smile in her direction, _you should come with us next time. _

_Perhaps, _said Saphira.

"Earth to Eragon," said Zoe with a small smile. "Pay attention."

He turned his focus back to Zoe and saw that she was holding out the hilt of Zar'roc towards him. Nodding he accepted the blade and waited for Zoe to explain exactly what he was supposed to do. The last time he had sparred with her she had not being teaching him moves but merely allowing him to learn as he went. Now, he sensed, it would be different.

It was. Zoe began by teaching him how to fall without losing his blade. Eragon had never considered falling or that the art of falling could win or lose a duel. Needless to say he ended up on his back and then had to learn to get out of that position. It was, he thought, surprisingly difficult to land in such a way that you could easily get back up or even, as Zoe explained, fool the one you were dueling.

They did not, as she had told him when she made the offer the previous night, practice for long. Maybe half and hour and, to Eragon's relief his back did not trouble him. It twinged and he nervously wondered when the next episode would be but it appeared not to be that day.

When Zoe sheathed her sword and he followed suit they left the small clearing that surrounded the tree and went back up the twisting stairs to Eragon and Saphira's rooms high above. It was there that Zoe told him, "I promised to teach you about being a leader but it really just a way of managing things. You have to be organized and appear completely in control. Imagine it is a chess game and you must move each piece carefully and with the idea to win firmly fixed in your mind."

She paused and then continued, "The only way to really understand it is to live it. To be in that situation and see how to play the game but," she gazed at him seriously, "I can teach you rules, mannerisms and other things that you can use to your advantage. One of the ways to teach these things is to present you with situations." Stepping into the center of the room she said, "Do you understand?"

Taking a seat on his bed, beside the pile of scrolls given to him by Oromis, Eragon said, "I think I do."

"Then let us begin," so she did. It was a different kind of schooling then any Eragon had experienced before. It was not about battles with swords and men but ones involving fictional lords and ladies. All of Zoe's questions required him to think quickly and yet giver answers that were smooth and polished – he could not be anything but ready and willing even when he struggled to know what to say. By the time Zoe had decided to end their session Eragon had the feeling that had he been confronted with even one of those situations in real life that he would have made a mess of it. When he did respond, his friend had corrected his tone, his stance and his wording – making him reconsider each of his words.

He smiled at his friend and said with a rueful grin, "How do you remember it all?"

She smiled and flopped down on his bed beside him. "I was drilled in it. Just as you will be." Zoe traced a pattern on the quilt, "It is good for me to remember these things to."

"What do you mean?" asked Eragon curiously.

Zoe shrugged, "I am still remembering who I am Eragon. All these lessons that I once had and now am giving to you are just another part of who I was. It is like building a puzzle."

Eragon frowned as he remembered Zoe informing him of her memory loss. In all that had occurred these past weeks he had forgotten that and it made him feel a little guilty. Saphira saved him from trying to answer by asking from her place in the soft nest, _How much have you remembered? _

"Enough of it," said Zoe with a faint smile but her eyes were shadowed and Eragon sensed that there was much she was not speaking of.

Saphira gazed at her with an almost stern look like a teacher might give a misbehaving student. The dragon laid her her head on the rim of her bed. _You can tell us Zoe. _

The young woman lifted her gaze to Saphira and shook her head quietly. When she spoke her words were measured and her eyes guarded. Suddenly she looked every inch the princess, with her back straight and her hands neatly folded in her lap. The elvish tunic she was wearing emphasizing the soft light that hung around her and complimenting her fair coloring. "I will tell you when I understand it better." Her words were not cold but they were unyielding. "The memories are still coming back. Hopefully," she glanced between them, "I can tell you more when I know more. Soon Saphira."

Then, as quickly as the princess had appeared she vanished and was replaced by the easy, relaxed friend that both Eragon and Saphira. With a gesture at the scrolls Zoe said with a smile, "You have homework and I am being a distraction."

"Yes," said Eragon with a grin and Zoe rolled her eyes at him. It was almost unsettling to see how quickly Zoe could pull her mask out and deliver her words with that measured voice that she was endeavoring to teach him. Yet he also wanted to know more about Zoe, to know why her eyes had shadowed so when asked about her memories. He remembered Oromis's words earlier that day _she understands it better then most. _What had his friend seen and done? What was she remembering right now that made her instantly so guarded around both him and Saphira? His thoughts were mirrored by Saphira.

"See you tomorrow," said Zoe with a smile and with that she was gone. She left him with a stack of scrolls and a mind full of questions. He and Saphira had just come to the startling realization that they really didn't know anything about Zoe. As Eragon tried to read and Saphira dozed on her bed, the young Rider wondered if he could actually say he knew who she was or if, like it seemed, if anyone knew who she was. Zoe was not the person he had thought she was.

Then, like the flower that was still caught in his mind's eye, was the feelings he had shared with Arya. The relaxed peace that filled him when he spent time with her – those confusing emotions that refused to leave him alone just as the indigo of that flower seemed to paint the world around him. Shaking his head as if to shake away an annoying fly the young Rider turned his attention back to the scrolls in front of him. Life, he decided, was too full of confusing questions. In his mind Saphira chuckled and agreed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter time! Just thought I would tell everyone that Murtagh will be back in the picture in either the coming chapter or the one after. We left him following Vivian through the streets of Aberon...<strong>_

_**I hope that everyone is appreciating faster updates...to be honest I am glad to be getting through Eldest as it was not my favorite Inhertiance book. I can't believe that I am over the 200,000 word mark...As always: thank you to everyone who has read and favorited this story. Here are some r**__**eplies to those of you who did review:**_

_** shin obin: I am glad you love this story! Thank you for the review! **_

_**live laugh play music: I am glad you like it...I do try to keep the characters sort of canon so please let me know if they get too out of character. Hope you like this chapter :) **_

_**M.X.M. World Travler: hahaha yes hearts of stone seem to be a problem in this series. Thank you for the review! :) **_

_**wakeupandlivee: It has started! Yes the eragon/arya thing is moving! Murtagh and Zoe have to wait, however, until the end of this installment... :( hope you like this chapter and thank you for the review! **_

_**Chris: I am glad you liked the dragon voice :) I guess that I would say that Zoe has, for sure, read the third book and probably has heard about the fourth book. She doesn't know the details - like the dragon souls ect. but she does know that it ends with Nasuada and Arya becoming Queens while Eragon leaves. Thank you for the review! :) **_


	48. Chapter 48

Eragon had to heal himself that day.

During his duel with Vanir his back had flared and, as he had been enduring it, he had bitten his lip and filled his mouth with hot, metallic blood. To Vanir's credit, the elf had merely asked him if he wished to continue and, when he had confirmed that he did, the elf had. Vanir had not gone any easier on him but, his choice to ignore the fact that Eragon had ended up on the ground, had made the Rider almost want to thank him.

At Oromis's hut the day resumed its usual pattern: Saphira accompanied Glaedr for her instruction while Eragon remained with Oromis. His apprehension to perform the Rimgar proved groundless for the Dance of Snake and Crane was too gentle to injure him. In fact it helped restore a little of his physical confidence and loosen the muscles that had become sore from the tension that kept them strained.

Once more he retreated to the clearing and endeavored to clear his mind and this time, perhaps thinking of it in terms of battle and strategy helped, he was able to reach and hold it for longer. His success gave him another little boost and he walked back to Oromis a little lighter and happier. At least he could be of some use and not everything asked of him was beyond his physical limitations. If he could not be a warrior with a sword then he would be another kind of warrior – a different sort who relied on weapons not so easily seen.

As Oromis served the midday meal he asked his young student, "Do you believe Galbatorix is evil?"

Eragon had been prepared for the question in some ways for he had expected another meal like the one from the day before. He had expected another startling question that challenged the ideas he had created without really thinking. Galbatorix it seemed was synonymous with the word 'evil.' Or maybe that was what Oromis expected him to say and he wanted to surprise his teacher with a different answer - a better one.

He was silent as he considered it and the wall in front of him. His first answer was affirmative and, yet, he doubted that it took in account all the sides of the issue. It was like saying Zoe was just a girl when she was so much more and he did not even know all the things that had. It was like saying Saphira was just a fiery breathing monster when she was far from it.

"No," said Eragon hesitantly, "not evil in the way I might first think. He has committed horrible crimes but…" Eragon trailed off not sure how to explain it and then he finally finished, "I doubted that he believes he is evil. Whatever he has done I am sure he has justified it and feels that it was necessary."

Oromis was gazing at him steadily over his cup of blueberry tea. "What makes you think that?"

Eragon flushed a little and dropped his gaze to his own tea. "It was something Zoe said to me. We were speaking of the Urgals and why they choose to side with Galbatorix. She told me that there may come a day when I would have to put aside my feelings toward them and see them as allies." Eragon paused and then continued, "She told me that the Urgals only chose to side with Galbatorix because they wanted to save their race from extinction. That their view of the world made them see the world in another light but that did not make them evil nor did it mean I could not understand them. It was that view that allowed them to fight the way they did."

"What do you know of Urgals?" asked Oromis.

Eragon shrugged, "Very little. I have only fought them and being on opposite sides of a battle field is hardly a way I would choose to learn of a person or race." He grimaced as he remembered a few of the terrible crimes the creatures had committed. He knew it would be difficult to think of them as anything other than monsters. Yet Zoe, with all her knowledge of the future, had told him to and that, one day, he might very well need their help.

Oromis sighed, "Your people hate and fear the Urgals do they not?"

Eragon cocked his head and looked at his teacher considering it. "Yes," he said finally, "just as they hate and fear the Spine. I do not claim to understand the Spine but I know a few things that allowed me to navigate it."

Oromis raised his mug to his lips and drank, his bright far-seeing eyes fixed on Eragon the entire time. "Keep that in mind when you meet someone whose views do not match your own. Just because others hate and fear it does not mean you cannot learn more of it and come to understand it."

Study of the ancient language continued that afternoon, whereupon Eragon was allowed, for the first time since he had come here, to take up the practice of magic. Much of Oromis's lectures concerned the proper way in which to control various forms of energy, such as light and heat. He also discussed magicians and the role they played in battle. Specifically he focused on the wards erected to make warriors and magicians safer from long-range attacks. This conversation of magic and the magicians strong enough to pose a threat led, of course, to the Twins. The two - now dead - magicians that had betrayed them to the Empire had been one of the few sets of magicians strong enough to actually immerse themselves in the magic. They had actually had substantial power while many of the others in the Varden could barely heal a bruise.

This line of discussion, of course, made Eragon wonder as he considered all this new information regarding battle and the way it was fought around, and almost for, magicians. "Were there magicians in Farthen Dur? I encountered no one when I was fighting and I did not know I had to be open for them or even that I should consider setting wards around myself."

"Did not Ajihad ask Arya or even one of Du Vrangr Gata to set defenses around you? Surely Brom did?" demanded Oromis. The grey eyes suddenly turning had as slate stone.

"No, Master."

"And you have always fought thus? Even when with Brom?"

"I have," said Eragon, "if Brom set wards around me I was never aware of it."

Oromis's eyes unfocused and he was silent for a long moment until, with a brief shake of his head, "It is lucky that Brom and Zoe were able to destroy the twins. Their betrayal could have cost us even more deeply than it already has. I am still surprised that you were allowed to fight so undefended."

"Yes," murmured Eragon as he thought back to the Twins and the things that they had caused. "But wards would not have saved me from Durza?" He looked up at his teacher, "I mean if there were magicians in Farthen Dur then they left me alone because Durza wanted me. So, when I met Durza, I was without wards." Eragon paused and gazed out at the forest that backed the small clearing where Oromis made his home. "Surely, even if I had wards, Durza would have found a way to avoid them."

Oromis nodded, "Durza did not risk it, however, and you are correct, Arya informed me that she did duel with other magicians during the battle." The elf paused, "How your duel with Durza would have gone had you had wards is for others to imagine."

Considering all this information, Eragon asked a question that had been nagging at him since Brom first told him the laws of magic all those months ago. "How is it then that Galbatorix's strength has been increasing each year?"

It was a question that he did expect to be answer and, yet, one that he would rather risk then never ask it at all. When Oromis finally did respond his voice was soft but unyielding, "It is not appropriate to have this discussion at the present."

At least he knows_,_ thought Eragon to himself. At least Oromis did know and could tell him when the time was right – that was reassuring at least for now even if the idea that it was something so deadly that the elves hid it was unsettling. Meeting his teacher's calm gaze he decided to ask another question, one with a very personal edge to it, that he had asked of Zoe before. Yet she had known little of it, telling him that his questions regarding that particular subject.

"Master what of the Ra'zac?"

"Why do you wish to know more about those foul creatures?" inquired his teacher with an interested gleam in his almond eyes.

Eragon shrugged, "One day I will have to face them and neither Zoe nor Brom were able to tell me much. Can they use magic as well?"

Oromis sighed softly, "Little to none is known of them Eragon. All I can tell you are that they can see on a cloudy night, track a scent like a bloodhound, jump higher and mover faster than a human and even an elf on occasion. Their very aura, the air around them, inspires terror in even the bravest men."

Eragon was silent for a moment and then he shivered. "I remember that part very well," he said quietly, "it made me feel cold and locked in place like a frightened rabbit." He grinned ruefully, "I am surprised that there is so little about them."

Oromis shrugged and folded his hands neatly on the table, "The Riders killed most of their kind before the Fall but whatever was once known about them has been lost. But Eragon," his teacher's eyes sharpened as he gazed at the younger Rider, "remember that they are strongest in the shadows where they can easily create fear. Never grow arrogant and never underestimate your opponent. Their mounts the Lethrblaka - we elves call them - are cruel and vicious with all the intelligence of a dragon while the Ra'zac are ruthless in their determination."

Eragon remembered the near death of his father at their hands and the many other heart aches the creatures had caused both him and others through the years. It was because of the Ra'zac that his uncle was dead and his cousin, no doubt, hated him. Sighing, Eragon nodded and Oromis moved the topic towards other matters related to magic and its uses.

They were nearing the end of the day when Oromis returned to his hut and returned carrying a half-dozen slate tablets about a half-foot wide and a foot high. He presented one to Eragon who examined it with interest. "I thought you might enjoy learning how to make a fairth. It is an excellent device for focusing your thoughts. All you need to do is concentrate upon the image that you wish to capture and then say, 'Let that which I see in my mind's eye be replicated on the surface of this tablet.'" As Eragon examined the clay-smooth slate, Oromis gestured at the clearing. "Look about you, Eragon, and find something worth preserving."

He glanced around the clearing. What was worth being captured forever? The crystal blue sky with its fluffy white clouds? The bright yellow of a wild flower that grew close to him? Or maybe the sight of Oromis's small cottage with the green trees around it and the wild flowers that grew in brightly colored clumps around it? He wanted to capture these moments, to remember the peace of the world around him before it was all lost by the passage of time.

But he discarded them. There would be other moments like this, other times when he looked around and wished he could just stay like this forever and never be asked to leave the forest or shoulder the responsibility of command. Turning his attention to a young apple tree he admired the bright pink blossoms that hung in heavy clumps. Looking at he remembered other apple trees, other days when he had gazed up into clouds of pink flowers against the blue of a mountain sky. He was remembering his childhood and suddenly this apple tree with its young branches that seemed to speak of peace and future prosperity as well of past trees that he had learned to climb in.

Eragon positioned himself alongside the trunk so that he could better capture the scene and then, with the image of tree fixed firmly in his mind, he uttered the spell. He was thinking of the slim branches, the delicate flowers and the way the tree seemed to stretch towards the sky.

The surface of the gray tablet brightened as splashes of color bloomed across it, bending and mixing to produce the proper array of hues. When he pigments stopped moving, Eragon found himself looking down at an image. It was not quite what he had originally imagined and yet he rather liked it. The colors were neither as sharp nor the details as crystal clear as the one created by Oromis had been. It was a little muddy and parts looked like they had been seen through a cloudy lens. Still, despite himself, he felt as if he had captured something crucial about the tree. Perhaps it was not as clear a representation because he had been thinking of other trees. Trees that had been older than this one with knarled branches and stout trunks that provided perfect footholds for a young boy.

At a sign from Oromis, Eragon handed the tablet over to him. The elf studied it for a minute and then said, "What were you thinking of?"

Eragon considered it for a moment and then shrugged, "I was thinking of the tree and of other apple trees that I remember."

Oromis cocked his head slightly and then nodded, "It is a little like with your meditation. Learn to let go of the past and the future. Observe everything around you without becoming focused on one particular thing. Allow yourself to absorb everything around you." Setting the picture aside, Oromis took a second, blank tablet from the grass and gave it to Eragon. "Try again with what I..."

Suddenly Eragon sensed eyes upon him and glanced up to see two figures standing close to Oromis's small cottage. One, he noticed with a strange leap in his heart, was Arya dressed in a gown of light green. Beside her, dark hair falling unbound down her back, was Zoe. She to, like Arya, had donned a gown though hers was of midnight blue and her glittering quiver was slung across her back, a fixture that Rider always associated with her.

Oromis turned and nodded to the pair as they stepped forward. "Lady Zoe," he greeted with a faint smile and then a nod to Arya along with, "Arya Drottning."

"I am sorry we interrupted," said Zoe with a cool smile. Eragon gazed at her with interest for she seemed oddly polite and guarded for such an informal setting. It struck him as strange to hear that word 'Lady' spoken in front of Zoe's name for he had never thought of her that way.

"Indeed," said Arya with a smile in his direction, "Zoe was coming to see you Oromis-elda and I offered to accompany her here before returning to Ellesmera. My mother wishes for my assistance in council this night."

"Tis nothing," said Oromis and he gestured at the tablets before them. "I am teaching Eragon how to make a fairth."

"Really?" said Zoe with an interested gleam in her grey eyes. She bent and picked up Eragon's first attempt. "Did you make this?" she asked raising her eyes to gaze at him.

"Yes," said Eragon now rather self-conscious to have Zoe examining his handiwork especially when it was still so rough.

"I like it," said his friend with a warm smile that was much more common around the Zoe he knew when they had been travelling or met in private. It seemed to Eragon that her eyes had suddenly become impenetrable grey-blue walls and that - only when she chose to - would that wall lower to show the friend he knew behind them. It was, he realized, something that she would try to teach him and he wondered what it would be like to be able to hide or show your feelings by choice.

"Can you make one?" asked Arya of the girl so suddenly that all turned to gaze at Zoe with sudden interest. Could she? Eragon had never thought much about Zoe having magic nor had he ever seen her display any sign that she could control the wild power that he was only just beginning to truly understand. Oromis to, noted Eragon, was suddenly very interested and gazing at Zoe with the full intensity that those silver irises could command.

Yet Zoe seemed untroubled by the intense scrutiny. Her face never lost its thoughtful interest and she seemed to be studying the slate in front of her as if considering the question. It seemed as if she was lost in thought, maybe trying to remember if, at some other time in her old life, she had done magic like this. Then, with a quick nod, she said, "I think I can. I have done something similar before." Turning a new, blank slate in her hands she gazed down at it a minute more before murmuring something in a language that Eragon had never heard before. It was a fair tongue and it echoed in his mind a little like the Ancient Language did for it was heavy with meaning and power.

The slate was blank for a moment after Zoe stopped speaking and then, like a flower unfurling, the colors splashed across it and formed an image that Eragon could not quite see from this angle. Zoe considered it for a long moment and then she held it out for inspection.

It was an image a sandy beach as if seen from above. A wide strip of gleaming sand that changed to ocean which stretched out into the distance until the line between horizon and water was an indistinguishable blue haze. The bright turquoise of the water changing to dark as the depth of the water increased and the green tufts of tough grass that grew along the edge of the sand. A wind seemed to making whitecaps across the waves.

"Where is it?" asked Eragon curiously for he had not really had a chance to actually see the sea and it fascinated him. He guessed it much be a memory for his friend and he had always associated her with the sea for some reason.

"It is where I spent many of my childhood summers," said Zoe with a faint smile. "It does not take much for me to conjure the image even when I have not walked it in too long." Setting aside her fairth the young woman gestured at the slate still in the young Rider's hands. "Now your turn," she said with a faint smile and deftly turning the subject away from why she had chosen to imprint a memory on the slate to him.

Looking down at his own slate Eragon wondered what he could do. He glanced around and met Arya's emerald green eyes that were gazing at him with interest. Oromis looked like usually did, interested and watchful but calm to. Then there was Zoe who seemed so unreachable and untouchable as if she was above it all and yet aware of everything at the same time. For a second Eragon almost wanted to capture these three people, so different and yet so powerful as they regarded him. However, he did not doubt he could render it enough justice nor was he certain of their reactions. So he turned his attention to something else, a memory that was as clear to him as the night - just the previous night to be exact - when he had seen it.

The flower.

The indigo flower that Arya had shown him.

He wanted to capture that image now, before it was dimmed in his mind. Before the memory of its crystal blue and inky darkness faded from his mind like a candle flame going out. For right now its color and shape were as clear to him as if he was still kneeling beside Arya underneath a weeping willow.

Remembering the flower as if it was before him and he had somehow been transported back to that moment when it had opened, he murmured the words in the tongue of power. The words came easily from him for he had long grown accustomed to the feel and weight of the Ancient Language.

The image that spread across the slate was clear and there were no muddy smears of color or unfocused blurry bits. The flower filled the entire fairth, the petals open to show the bright interior and enough of the dark blue sides. Perhaps it was because he understood the flower a little better then he understood the apple tree. Or maybe seeing Zoe work the magic in her strange, foreign way had made him see the world with a wider lens.

Turning the slate around for inspection he saw Arya's eyes widen slightly as she turned to look at him with a surprised and yet, quite suddenly, wary expression. Zoe smiled slightly and nodded her head as if approving of his choice while Oromis studied it with the gaze of a teacher evaluating a student's submission.

"Well wrought," said Oromis with a nod and an approving smile that Eragon suddenly found hard to take pride in for Arya did not seem at all approving. Instead the elf was gazing at him with guarded eyes that studied him like they had studied him when they had first met. When he was the human who had somehow become a Rider and she was the elf just rescued from prison.

"Yes," said Arya distantly. Her eyes lingered on his face before she asked, "Why that?" With one elegant, long fingered hand she gestured at the slate.

Eragon looked at it for a long moment and then spoke carefully as if this was one of Zoe's lessons in decorum and wordplay. "I wanted to remember what the flower looked like. I understood it better then I…" he trailed off before continuing, "It just seemed like something I could capture." He felt flat, as if his answer had been a poor reason and he half-looked to Zoe as if she could help him. He found her eyes studying him and then, to his relief, the young woman smiled.

"It is a beautiful flower," said Zoe as if that was reason enough. "You captured the colors."

"So did you in your image," he returned with a small smile. His friend laughed lightly but once more he could see that she was in complete control of that laugh, that her amusement was carefully controlled as was any pleasure she might have felt with her creation. The very air felt charged almost, stilted and awkward though Zoe and Oromis seemed to be unaffected. Arya looked like she felt like he did – strange and unable to articulate anything nor sure of what to say that would not cause offense.

"Thank you," Zoe said. "I have not created something like for years." She turned and looked at Arya, "You have a council meeting do you not?" Eragon sensed that she offering the elf an escape and he watched as Arya nodded briefly before she said her farewells and disappeared into the trees. Zoe helped Eragon gather the slates before following Oromis back into his cottage. Eragon could sense Saphira returning along with Glaedr. She was weary and hungry – tonight she would hunt and he planned to accompany her before meeting with Zoe.

Sure enough, a few moments later, the thudding beats of dragon wings could be heard on the air. Leaving the cottage the three watched as the dragons, illuminated by the setting sun, flared their translucent wings. Eragon could not help but smile as he and Saphira connected and lost themselves in their mutual happiness to see the other. Warm waves of love, trust and joy flowed through their link as they shared images and feelings that had been too faint for the other to sense through their stretched link.

_Little one, _said Saphira as she settled on the ground. Beside her like a golden mountain Gleadr was greeting Oromis and so Eragon moved forward and rested a hand on the side of her face just below her giant blue eye. She was tired but also satisfied with what she had accomplished. Yet, as he smiled at her, he sensed her deep worry for him and it made him feel helpless and frustrated.

Zoe walked up beside him and smiled a warm, true smile at her long-time friend. The two greeted each other and then Zoe turned to nod to Glaedr before Eragon and Saphira once more had to answer the questions the pair directed towards them.

Once they had answered to the best of their ability the sapphire blue dragon and her Rider bade farewell to their teachers and nodded to Zoe who they both knew they would see later. With that they soared upwards, relishing in each other's presence in the empty expanse of the sky. The spoke little and forgot, for a time, the troubles that haunted them like dark storm clouds.

* * *

><p>She watched from her place on the soft grass of the clearing as Zoe schooled her young Rider in the ways of dueling blades. The blue dragon's wing muscles ached from the strenuous exercise of the past few weeks. She was used to flying for long periods but never had she had to practice aerial combat moves and learn to improve her technique until then and it was a painful process despite her natural skill.<p>

Sighing, she allowed herself to enjoy the pleasure of a full stomach and the pleasant feeling of grass against her scales. She was trying not to worry as she watched her little human end up on his back once more. It was not in her nature to worry or to feel afraid of something but then it had never been in a dragon's nature to care for a little two-leg like she cared for her Rider. He was part of her, his triumphs and failures were as much his and they were hers. Together they were one and when they were separated it was gaping hole – Durza's curse reminded her of this it seemed every single time it struck.

It was cruel thing.

She could feel his pain, feel him struggling to endure it and rise above it but she could not help. Only when it was over could she help him and then, when it was done, she tried to make him forget it just as she tried to. Yet she could not. Just as the curse haunted her Rider every movement, just waiting to strike, it haunted her like a cruel reminder that she could not always save him. That she – a dragon! – was helpless. A queen of the sky, a glittering remnant of a distant age, a flaming signal of hope and vitality was helpless to save the one she loved more than life itself.

Saphira wrenched her thoughts away from such thoughts lest her Rider sense her despair and pain. Focusing on the lesson before her she watched as Zoe readjusted Eragon's grip on the knife's hilt. The weyr lights that floated around the clearing illuminated the space where the two practiced hidden from the elves and their curiosity.

Watching the girl the dragon allowed herself to wander other thought paths. She counted the little human as one of her greatest allies in this war. That did not mean they had not disagreed. They had not too long ago regarding Eragon's curse when Saphira had demanded that Zoe tell her when – if ever - it would ever fade. The girl had refused and nothing Saphira did had changed her mind. No, the dragon respected the stubborn little human with her complicated past and numerous sides even if she wished the girl was more open and willing to share things.

She cast her gaze over her young Rider as he prepared to try again. He had changed, she mused to herself. Saphira could still see him, silhouetted in the moonlight standing in a small room in a simple house staring at her. He had been what she had spent so long waiting for. Something about the way he had held her egg, the way he let her know of his presence had been enough. Something about him, standing in the silver light, had stuck with her and she had known in that first second that this was someone special. That she, unnamed and alone in the world, could trust and love and fight for. That he, unknown and untried, would fight and love her just as much as she did.

Now he doubted her choice, he had argued with her the previous night as he considered what his disability would mean for them both – even going so far as to agree with Vanir that she had made a bad one. Nothing had angered her more then to hear him doubt the truest thing that either of them had ever done before. Perhaps, wondered the dragon, that was why she loved him so. He doubted things, he questioned what she took for certain and he needed her just as she needed him. She gave him certainty when did not feel certain of anything and he made her consider the world.

As the two humans finished their dueling and Zoe began to tutor her young rider in things that she found both amusing and distastefully necessary, the dragon allowed herself to pretend that her Rider was just fine. That she had never felt the terror of being alone and isolated from him while he was in pain. She allowed herself to enjoy that the girl she called friend and ally was here with them and seemed to have shed the mask that she wore so often in this place. As the stars glinted above her and their clear light was reflected in her bright scales, the dragon allowed herself to forget it all. It had been a good day for the most part and she was a dragon. It would take more then this to defeat her. It would take more then this to make her feel forsaken and frightened. There was fire and hot determination a-plenty in her and, because he was her Rider, it was Eragon's to. They would endure. Together they would be the two that are one. The one that was all in this fight for freedom and revenge.

She would do anything and everything for him. Just as he would do the same for her.

It had been the right choice.

* * *

><p>I left the fairth, which Oromis had insisted I take with me, on the table in the antechamber. I think you know what the image shows – where I got that memory. It is from that strange waking dream in which everything was so real and yet so far away. With the book and the lines I had written in it. Now, shedding my bow and knives, I left my bedroom and sat down in front of the fairth. A tray of food, probably left for me by Rina, was waiting for me. I poured a cup of the fragrant tea and gazed down at the fairth.<p>

I touched it and traced the colors that made up the waves and the horizon. I had never used my magic in front of Eragon and he had many questions for me that night as had Saphira. I sighed and leaned back. The fairth was pretty and I was happy to have the dream immortalized in it but it still felt strange. Strange that suddenly I was able to wield power like the magicians in this world. It was different power and yet also similar. Now I could match people like the Twins and assist the Varden in another way. I still needed to practice; to remember and regain the skill that had been purposely removed from my mind but it was there just like it had been there today.

Then there had been Oromis. We had spoken that night and I had found myself slowly opening up to him. It was, I was finding, impossible to keep myself distant with someone as wise and compassionate as the Rider. Our conversations were interesting, our topics varied and I had the feeling that he enjoyed it just as much as I did.

Finishing the food on the tray and pouring a fresh cup of tea, I retreated to my bathroom and then, wrapped in a thick bathrobe, I pulled one of my books from my traveling pack and allowed myself the luxury of being curled in blankets with a good book and a hot cup of tea. Sleep came not long after. Slowly pulling me under until I found myself back at Caer Calldren. I was back on the beach. Back in a dream that seemed so real that it was not a dream…

_I was walking the beach, my feet bare and the sand soft and warm between my toes. My hair was loose and being blown around by the wind. I was wearing a white dress whose hem was already wet from sea spray. I raised a hand and pushed some hair out of my face. _

_Once more this felt so real. I could feel the wind against my face, the warm sand and hear the gulls crying above as the surf beat its relentless tune out on the shore. It was as if I was really here – transported back to this place even though I really was far, far away. My mind was here but I wasn't really here. _

_A voice called out, "Zoe!" A familiar voice thought I could not place it. _

_I turned and saw a man standing on a dune. He was a young man and very handsome dressed in a loose white shirt and trousers that were rolled up as if to save them from the sand. His hair was dark like mine and his eyes were a clear blue-grey but this was not Eomund. He was gazing at me with a look of such wonder and joy that I suddenly wondered why. _

_The man spoke again, "Zoe." This time his voice was softer and full of such open wonder and something akin to relief. "Where have you been?" He slid down the dune and walked towards me. As he drew closer I suddenly realized who he was. My cousin. This was Taren of Caer Calldren a cousin from my mother's side of the family. A son of the House of Llyr and one of my favorite play mates. _

_"Taren," I said as he took my hands in his own worn and calloused ones. They felt so real as if he really was holding my hands and I really was standing with him on this beach with the castle rising behind us. As if I had stepped into my fairth as if it was a doorway back to Prydain and my old life. _

_"Zoe," he said and then he drew me into an embrace, murmuring as he did so. "They will be so happy to see you again." _

_"Who?" I asked as he drew back a little and I found myself looking up into those eyes that were so like Eomund's and my own. _

_"Everyone," he said with a warm smile. His smile was as bright as a dawn sun and I wondered, once more, how this could be a memory. He rested a hand on the side of my face as if seeing if I was actually real and not some mirage conjured by the sun on the water. The grey-blue of his eyes soft and full of transparent joy as if seeing me again was something he had not counted on and it had shattered all his self-control. _

_It was then that a voice called out, "Taren! Oh Taren! You will never believe it!" A voice that I knew instantly for it was Lucia's voice. Taren's smile seemed to grow even larger and he tugged my hand, leading me towards that voice. A sense of nervous trepidation grew inside of me as if this was some sort of greeting or homecoming. Yet, I told myself sternly, you are dreaming. You will wake up soon. It is not real. _

_Lucia appeared on the crest of a dune. Her hair was in disarray and her dress a light blue. She looked tired and worn as if she had too many cares to bear upon her slender shoulders. Yet she was smiling and her eyes glittered as if she had just discovered something wonderous and could not wait to share it. While my sisterly concern grew inside of me I could not help but smile widely to see such a look on my sister's face. However, as her eyes a lit upon me, I saw her entire face pale and those big blue eyes widened with shock as the smile slipped away to be replaced by an open 'o.' . _

_"Zoe," she said so softly that I almost did not hear it above the crashing surf. But I could not respond. I was waking up. I struggled against it and gripped Taren's hand tightly but I was fading away. I saw the horror and the shock in their faces but I could not win this fight and so, desperate because this might be real even though it seemed impossible, I cried out. _

_"I will come back. Hold onto that." I met Taren's grey-blue eyes and then I flicked my gaze to Lucia and I felt as if my heart was cracking. I did not want to leave this dream. I wanted to hug my sister and laugh with my cousin. No, I whispered to myself. Let me stay here!_

_However, I could not. Things were fading away. I was waking up and becoming as insubstantial as a ghost. _

I woke up just as the first rays of dawn streamed in through my windows. Sitting upright I pushed the blankets off and hurried into my antechamber. There, on the table, was my fairth. Hurrying forward I looked down at it.

It was the same.

No. No it was not the same. No. No. No. Oh how?

That strange sense of something was right. The sense that had brought me here and made me look at the fairth was right.

It was different. It was still a beach. It was still the same except that there were two people standing arm in arm looking out at the sea with their backs to me like friends might stand together and look out over a scene. One of them was wearing a loose white shirt and his hair was dark. The woman beside him was golden haired and dressed in a gown of light blue.

The world suddenly did not seem so certain. My dreams suddenly more complicated. My heart was heavy with homesickness and a deep, dull ache that refused to go away no matter what logic and reason said. For magic did not obey logic and reason but its own rules. Magic, especially magic like this, set its own agenda and did not care if what it did should be considered impossible by the likes of me. For there really is no such word as _impossible. _

I sat down heavily in a chair and buried face in my hands. I did not know what to think reader and so I put the mystery aside and took comfort in the memory of the warm sand, sea breeze and thundering waves that lingered in my mind and senses. I took the fairth into my room and placed it at the bottom of my pack. I gathered my book from the previous night and put it in the pack to avoid awkward questions. Yet, no matter what I did that day or where I went I could still hear Taren and Lucia. I could still feel it all and my heart was not about to forget how much it had hurt to wake up. How much it hurt to go before you were ready.

When you had so much left to say...

* * *

><p><strong><em>Revised 26/2014_**


	49. Chapter 49

Time past.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Spring left us completely and was replaced by high summer. Yet things were so unchanging in this fair city of trees and immortal elves. Sometimes time seemed to speed up then it seemed to slow down and come to a crashing halt. There were times when it seemed as if there was something missing in my day to day life as if I should be doing something but did not remember what it was. I dueled with Arya, I taught Eragon what I could and I wandered the forest paths. I read the books in my room and learned a great deal about this world's history and the great heroes who had walked it. I met with elves in their fair halls and gardens where I forged friendships and ties that I just might find useful in the events to come. There were council meetings with the Queen and her advisors as they readied this country for war and looked to me to provide the Varden or dwarves opinion. I spoke with Oromis and, as I came to know him, I slowly relaxed the walls that I had erected to protect certain things from his probing questions. I comforted Eragon and Saphira as best I could as Durza's curse increased in severity and the attacks came more frequently. But, most important of all, I remembered and, as I remembered, I became more and more the Zoe of my true past.

The memories came back to me at night during my dreams and in brief flashes as I went about my day. The good ones and the bad ones. The ones that made me shiver and wake crying at night as well as the ones that made me smile in fond remembrance. I remembered fights with dark creatures in the wild north of my homeland when I stood beside those I commanded. I remembered injuries and lessons. There were memories of the horse I had ridden through all of this. There were dances and feasts when everything glittered and sparkled under crystal chandeliers as I twirled on the dance floor in a stunning dress. The lessons in magic and then, of course, there were the wars.

The battles where the memories became confused jumbles of sound and emotion and physical exertion. The lonely nights as I sat watch over a camp of Rangers underneath starry skies in a dark forest waiting for an attack that might or might not come. Arguments and decisions made in battle field tents, council rooms and in the small outposts from which rangers based themselves in the Wild. Scattered throughout these dark days were the moments of peace and laughter with cousins, aunts, uncles, and often one of my siblings, if not all, in various castles where our relatives lived scattered across the realm. The meetings with the ambassadors of distant kingdoms and the friendship I had shared with a few dwarves - who we called the Fair Folk – and were rather like dealing with the dwarves of Alagaesia.

It is strange. It is strange how quickly I can slip back into the frightened, overwhelmed girl who is unable to act. It is strange how easily my mind and body could just snap back to the days when I had never held a sword or killed someone. The days when my bow had been a foreign object more suited to a movie then real life – when the idea of not going to a supermarket for dinner was a concept better left to adventure novels. However, the more I remembered, the more I practiced with my magic alone in my room or taught Eragon or faced Arya on a sparring field, the less those moments happened. Now, I no longer felt as if I was slipping on a mask just to cover my fear and because I wanted to feel protected but rather that I was that person and, so, had no need for a mask or protection.

As this change occurred I found myself returning more and more frequently to Runon's forge. Often no words were shared between us, she worked at her forge and I watched silently and wondered at the creations that took shape in that place. The shining suits of armor, deadly throwing knives, sparkling spears and shields with intricate designs upon them. Sometimes Runon would speak and when she did it was often not directed at me but to the metal she worked. The words seemed to make the creation shine brighter as if it had just been given a purpose and would never falter.

Yet still, despite all of this and the things I was doing, I missed Brom and Murtagh. I missed their company and even the gruff humor of Orik who, as you probably know, should have been the one twiddling his thumbs in this city. Finally, one night as I gazed at the mirror hanging in my bathroom, I could resist temptation no longer and cast a scrying spell. I was rewarded by a blank swirling mist for, of course, Brom had cast wards about both himself and Murtagh to protect from spells just like this one. It was highly annoying and left me feeling rather punchy - what was the point of scrying if all you got was mist? Answer me that.

Then there is Eragon. I think if you asked him that he would tell you that he both loved and hated his time here in this city. He attacked his studies with a zeal that I found impressive as did others who monitored his progress from Arya to Islanzardi to Oromis. No, he made huge strides as he mastered spells and all the skills that Riders had to learn. He could now manage to deal with elements and natural forces as well as improved his understanding of healing, language, history and the natural world. It was not uncommon for me to enter his rooms and him buried in some dusty old scroll given to him by Oromis. His meditation progressed to and, as he mastered these skills, he became even more reserved and prone to watching instead of speaking. It was a little like with me, as the time past and things were learned or regained the less of who we had been was left to be replaced by something new and different.

What was teaching him like? It was an exercise in patience at points for me and also highly enjoyable. There were some things that he understood better than other things but that is the same for everyone. He found it difficult to master the subtle turn of phrase and body language I endeavored to show him, yet he excelled in other things to. I think, as his curse wore him down more and more, these lessons became one of the few places he could truly feel like he was growing more powerful and gaining things that would make him a heavy hitter when he returned to the Varden. Then there were my dueling tricks which, perhaps because he was already quite skilled with a blade, came more easily to him than either of us had thought they would. Of course, as we progressed to duels, he felt his curse and there were times when he ended up unconscious on the soft grass with Saphira watching anxiously and me holding his hand as if that would offer him some sort of respite. It was during those moments that I found myself hating myself that I could do nothing and wait for the Blood Oath Celebration which seemed both close and yet impossibly far away.

As Eragon's days grew harder and the lessons more challenging he seemed to withdraw into himself and rely mostly on Saphira. It worried me for I knew how isolating yourself from the world rarely solved the problem, especially if you felt that admitting you needed more support would only signal weakness. There is a difference between reserved quietness that comes with learning more about the world and the kind of silence that Eragon was risking as his curse sapped his strength. Arya, after Eragon had created the fairth, had found many reasons why she could not see him like she had been before or at least she had found reasons for a few days. That was until I confronted her and forced her to put aside whatever, and I told her it quite frankly, childish things were making her put herself first instead of a friend who needed all the support we could offer. Eragon had been unsure of how to mend this sudden break in their friendship and so, because I was rather irritated by it all, I had taken matters into my own hands.

It was amusing to watch how their relationship blossomed slowly but surely. Usually it was Eragon and Saphira who went with Arya as she toured them through the city and among the towering trees with their graceful palaces, vibrant gardens and magical wonders that defied one's imagination. Slowly, like icebergs unthawing, the two grew closer and it was not at all strange to see the pair, along with Saphira, chuckling at something or sharing some story. On the times that Saphira did not accompany the pair, she would stay with me and we would watch with growing amusement as the two - oblivious to all of this - grew closer despite themselves.

Just as Eragon trained, so did Saphira. The dragon told me of her lessons - exercises meant to improve her hovering, dives, and other acrobatics that seemed impossible for such a large creature. She improved her fire breathing capabilities and could now maintain the flames for over half an hour, something I found rather frightening to consider. Imagine just what one could light on fire if one could maintain a blistering torrent of flames for close to an hour?

Fire and ashes.

Is that what the world is coming to?

* * *

><p>He had come to love this city.<p>

As time past and the days blended into each other he came to love the quiet. He came to love the feeling of being secure and knowing what lay ahead for the next day and the day after that. Routine, he found, was something he had missed sorely since Saphira had hatched. True, this routine was far different from the one on the farm, but it was comforting in its familiarity as each morning he rose and prepared for another day of learning. Each day he knew that he would learn something new and he relished that even if, sometimes, those lessons pushed him to the very edge of his endurance both mentally and physically.

Then there was the world around him. The graceful houses and palaces that were created both from living trees blended in with graceful stone work and polished marble to create staircases, wide hallways and vaulted ceilings. Wandering through Ellesmera was an adventure in discovery for one was never sure what one would find or who one would find sometimes. There were gardens full of the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen for, like all things in this forest, they were nourished by the enchantments spun through the air.

Yet, despite the walks shared with Arya and Saphira or the friendship extended by Zoe or even his rapidly progressing training with Oromis could not ease the heavy burden of his curse. It wore on him; clouding his thoughts and making him feel heavy and unable to fully concentrate on the world around him. He did not know when it might strike. The constant threat of an attack was, he decided, far worse than anything else for he knew it was coming but not when or where. Oromis did what he could and, in some ways, Eragon had come to appreciate the silent support of his teacher most. The elder Rider understood in the most basic of ways what it meant to be burdened as Eragon was and how one had to soldier-on. How it was impossible to try and explain it to those who did not understand it.

There was one conversation that he remembered quite well between him and Zoe. Now, he recalled it and the things he had taken from it.

_He was standing with Zoe in the clearing dueling, this time with swords, and during a brief respite he asked her a question. Saphira had left them to hunt and the stars were just beginning to appear in the soft grey twilight sky. For some reason, maybe because he was still thinking on what Oromis had said of Galbaotrix weeks ago, he asked her if she thought the mad king was evil. _

_For a long time the girl was silent as she twirled a knife in her hands with idle twirls that seemed to come dangerously close to cutting her hands. At last she spoke, "Galbatorix is the most dangerous kind of foe: he is absolutely confident that what he is doing is right. Is he evil?" She paused for a long time once more, "No one believes they are evil just as everyone believes they are right." Her gaze met Eragon's for a long moment, "If he is evil or not does not make any of his crimes lesser. Think on that when you begin to feel pity for him." _

_Then turning away she resumed her position on the opposite side of the small clearing and raised her silver sword as he followed suit. Once more they dueled and, just as it happened with Vanir during his morning spars, his back flared. This one was not as severe as the two attacks he had already endured that day, it did not him unconscious like those ones had but it left him panting and seeing stars as he lay on the ground. _

_When he had been able to he had murmured, "It is impossible Zoe." _

_"The word impossible is meaningless," said Zoe with a brilliant smile. "Try it again." And he had tried again and this time, maybe because of some strange luck, he succeeded and felt a small thrill of joy in his heart. _

The memory faded as he looked around himself again. He was flying high on Saphira's back. A cold wind made his face feel numb with cold and he was grateful for the thick cloak that he had thought to bring with him. As they flew along behind Glaedr far above the clouds and even farther above the emerald green forests. He admired, as they flew along, the fluffy white clouds and the bright azure sky above them.

They flew southwest from dawn until early afternoon, often pausing for enthusiastic spars between Saphira and Flaedr, during which Eragon had to strap his arms onto the saddle to prevent himself from being thrown off. He almost used a spell to settle his stomach as Saphira preformed gut-wrenching, stomach-turning acrobatics that, had he not been strapped in, would have shaken him off of her and sent him spinning to the ground. During these acrobatics he was required to focus on his mental barriers for, as Glaedr informed him multiple times, he would often be attacked mentally by an enemy Rider while the dragons dueled it out.

The trip ended at a cluster of four mountains that towered over the carpet of trees like jagged teeth. They were the first mountains he had seen in Du Weldenvarden and he found the sight of them oddly comforting for mountains had always been a part of his world. They put boundaries on the world and seemed to challenge one to look beyond, to climb up them and look out at the world. Without a single mountain anywhere close by, excluding the mountainous Glaedr, he had found himself missing their valleys, craggy faces and avalanche shoots more than he had ever thought he would. These mountains might be far different than the ones he loved and remembered but they were still mountains. They still put a barrier to the world and offered a sense  
>of security that open plains and endless forest did not.<p>

_They look so small compared to the Beors, _said Saphira conversationally as they began to descend towards the snow covered and windswept peaks that pierced through the rolling clouds.

_But bigger than the Spine, _he pointed out as he extended his mind in every direction, touching upon the minds of the organisms around them in search of any who might mean them harm. All he could sense, however, was the bustling little lives of the small creatures that lived on the bare rock faces and lichen covered plateaus of the peaks. He wondered what kind of animals he might find in his old hunting ground back in the Spine now that he could sense all the lives around him. He would, came the amusing thought, never have to worry about returning empty handed again. Yet, thinking that made him think of Garrow and the welcome that had always been waiting for him after a hunt. It sent a small stab of sorrow through his heart for, while time had dulled the ache and the longing for what had once been, it could not completely ease the loss.

When Glaedr descended to a bare ridge on the first mountain, Saphira angled after him and alighted upon the boulder-strewn, bare piece of stone that, Eragon noticed on closer inspection, seemed to be marked by the claws of a dragon. In fact, the more he studied it, he could see the places where numerous dragons had once landed or taken off or crack a rock between their talons. Above them loomed a cliff of black rock that seemed remarkably smooth for a natural formation and Eragon doubted he would be able to climb it by normal, human means at all. He felt as if they had stepped back in time and that, any second, another dragon might swoop down and land beside the gold and blue of Glaedr and Saphira.

_We are on Fionula, _said Glaedr as the two dragons settled and Eragon was able to undo the straps that held him to Saphira. _And her brothers are Ethrundr, Merogoven, and Griminsmal. I shall tell you their stories on the flight back. For now, I shall address the purpose of the visit: to teach you both more of the bond that each dragon and Rider share. You must know its full implications so that you are able to uphold it when Oromis and I are no longer. _

Drawing his cloak closer around him, Eragon remembered learning a little of the bond from one of his scrolls. The manuscript had detailed both how it was created and why but it had done little to actually explain the depth of the bond. His own awareness of it as well as Saphira told them both that it extended past mere words or thoughts but to deeper things.

Glaedr coiled up, cracking rocks as he did so, and resembling something like a giant gold cat soaking up the sun with his head resting on his intact front leg. His dark gold eyes, both so huge that it felt as if Eragon was tumbling into it and down a path of memory and knowledge that he would never escape, turned to gaze at both him and Saphira. It froze them in place and both fell very quiet as he began to speak of the original decision to create the Riders between Queen Tarmunora of the elves and the dragon who had been selected to represent his own race. The lesson progressed to the spell that had been used and then to the slow decline of both elves and humans since the near eradication of dragons. Then to the bond itself and the changes that both dragon and Rider underwent. It was here that Eragon was unable to stop himself from chuckling discretly into his sleeve. However, despite his best attempts, his small noise did not go unnoticed by his instructor.

_What is it Eragon? _asked Glaedr.

Aware that he was currently trapped on a mountain and that dragons could be easily affronted, Eragon choose his words with care. "I merely could not imagine either you or Saphira being any fiercer master." He gestured at the mighty gold dragon and said quickly in case tempers needed mollifying, "Not that I think that's a bad thing at all."

His words seemed to have caused an avalanche somewhere on the mountain for Glaedr's gold sides shook with laughter and this in turn shook the ground. The boulders around them rolled sideways and a few tumbled over the edge of the plateau to let out large cracks as they struck the mountain side. _Dragons, wild dragons, answer to no one but themselves and their kin. _Glaedr paused and raised his head to gaze out across the clouds and the forest that showed through the open patches between the white fluff. With that he continued on and explained more of the false, half bond that was between Shruikan and Galbatorix.

It was then that he came to a topic which lingered in all dragons and their Riders minds. What happens when one of the partners dies or experiences terrible suffering. _When a dragon or Rider is injured, _said Glaedr as if he was discussing the weather and not a topic that sent stabs of fear through both Eragon and Saphira. T_hey must harden their hearts and sever the connection between them to protect each other from unnecessary suffering. You must resist temptation to try and take your partner's soul into your own body and shelter it there, as that will kill you both. _

Eragon looked out from his place nestled against the warmth of Saphira's scales. He was protected from the wind here and felt, as he always did when with her, as if the world was suddenly much more stable. As if a missing piece of a puzzle had been returned to him and he could suddenly take joy in the world again. He had never realized how alone he had been before her - how he had struggled to relate to the people around him and how much he had longed for someone to share the world with who both understood him and yet challenged him to. Saphira knew him. He knew her. However, thinking of what Glaedr had just said, made him feel chilled as he thought of the both how it might feel and why it might happen.

Glaedr fixed his giant gold eye on Eragon and Saphira who had drawn closer together at his words and continued. His voice was unrelenting as he imparted this information as he had done many, many times before to dragons and Riders who now lay buried and forgotten on battlefields. _Everyone dies alone. Whether you are a king on a battlefield or a lowly peasant lying in a bed among your family, no one can accompany you on this journey. We go alone. _

With that he instructed them in the proper way of separating themselves and how to rejoin. Yet, no matter what they did, both Rider and dragon thought of those words and of the darkness that was to come. Each time they had to separate and then come back - each moment of separation and then the relief of being together - was a reminder that one day it might not be possible to join again. As they left the plateau and angled back to Ellesmera, the young Rider and his young dragon took solace in light conversation and the continued history lessons from Glaedr. However, nothing could completely erase the coldness, the deep fear that had filled them both as they considered that their end may be soon. So, as they flew, they both clung together as best they could and reiterated their promise to never leave the other - to remain together no matter what happened.

_We all die alone_. The words rang through Eragon's mind as he finished his lessons that evening with Zoe. They had haunted him along with Glaedr's words about separating himself should Saphira fall in battle. The two were sitting on the soft grass on the edge of their little sparring field with Saphira. Arya had been occupied that evening and Eragon was glad he could merely sit here and not engage in social activities or anything might require him to pretend to be content when his thoughts were so far away. His back, while it had only flared once and only briefly during the sparring part of Zoe's instruction, was aching and it made him reluctant to move from his comfortable place against Saphira's warm side.

"What is wrong Eragon?" It was Zoe's quiet voice as she stretched her legs out in front of her. She had spoken in the Common tongue for, as was their habit, they often fell back to it during these lessons. There was no real reason for it except that it reminded them both of those that they had left behind on their journey to this fair city. "You seem very quiet this night."

He glanced over at her and could not help but think how much she had changed - just he had changed. Yet there was a difference. While he felt new and was sure he was still in that strange half-way stage between the person he had been and the person he had to become, Zoe seemed to be returning to who she had been. There was an easy confidence to her now and her face had become increasingly impossible to read. Once, when he had first met her, the emotions she felt had been written clearly in her grey-blue eyes or the set of her mouth. Now, it was like looking a blank wall and her eyes were deep pools that revealed nothing but reserve and watchful intelligence.

"I am thinking," he answered and leaned back at Saphira's warm side.

_Glaedr had us separate our minds from each other, _Saphira told Zoe after a few minutes, _it has unsettled us both to remember that one day we will have to leave the other. _She let out a small puff of smoke and her giant blue eyes had a sad tint to them. For, while Glaedr had not meant his words to affect them so, they still dovetailed with the painful effects of Durza's curse. These last few weeks had proved to them both how fragile their bond really was and how, despite everything, they could not always save the other from everything.

Zoe sighed heavily and rested a hand lightly on Eragon's shoulder. Her words were heavy with the weight of many years, of many failures and the authority of someone who knows of what they speak. Her grey-blue eyes were looking into the distance and Eragon had the feeling she was not looking at the gently waving trees or the wild flowers but seeing the images of many other things. "This," she said slowly, "is all we have Eragon, Saphira. Then it is gone. To worry of things that have not happened yet and may not happen for many, many years is foolish." She turned her head and fixed her gaze on the young Rider beside her, "Death is not the end. The journey does not end here nor will end on a battlefield or somewhere far away that we have never been. Death is just another path and we all take it someday whether we are an immortal elf or a shortlived human."

A small smile curved up Zoe's lips and she put a hand on the side of Eragon's face. It was a warm, sure hand that sent soft waves of warmth through him and banished the cold fear that Glaedr's honest words had aroused in both his heart and Saphira's. It was a hand that was remarkably soft considering all the things she had done and the places she had been.

"Let the end come Eragon, Saphira even if that end is painful or uncertain. Because you will have many memories - memories that matter - of love, laughter and peace when you were together or with those you care for." For a moment there was nothing but the soft breeze and the sounds of crickets chirping as birds flitted above them. Above the small clearing was the night sky, sparkling with thousands of stars that were so bright it seemed to drown out the blackness. The Zoe chuckled, "I have received that lecture so many times Eragon." Her eyes sparkled with faint amusement and she shook her dark head, "From many people. To say we die alone - to say that - is not true for the end is uncertain and who knows who we might find. I have had to accept that and take hope from the knowledge that I must live now - and live it well - so that I come to death with memories and things that matter. You must to. Both of you. It is the hardest thing to do but worth the journey."

Eragon wondered, as she said those comforting words, if there were people she wished to see at the end. Who those people might be...friends? Family? Or perhaps there were those she had failed to save and so were imprinted upon her memories as she moved through the world. He knew Zoe had seen war before - had fought long and hard before - and so, he guessed, that just as the faces of his Uncle and the dead villagers of Yazuac haunted his mind, the faces of others must haunt Zoe's mind. Quietly, he said, "Thank you."

Saphira gently turned her head and gazed at the pair of humans once more, _Will we make it? _

It was a question that made Eragon start slightly and Zoe just smiled sadly. "Ah Saphira," her words were gentle and yet he heard the same firmness and assurance that now seemed to hang around her like a cloak. "You will make it if you never let go of each other. If you hold onto what you believe in and never falter in your journey." Her gaze was steely and there was something to it - as if she was speaking to herself as well as to her friends. "Nothing is for certain. There is only what we have now and what must be done."

With that she rose and so did Eragon even as his muscles, sore from the stabbing pain of his curse, protested at the movement. He was taller than Zoe but then, right then, he had never been more aware of the differences between them. There was the look of many years to her this night and he had the feeling of a young warrior - untried and frightened - looking towards an elder for assurance of success. Saphira to, though she did not wish to speak of it or even admit to herself, felt herself look towards the Zoe that stood before them now for some sort of comfort or promise though the girl could give them none. She had told them before: the future had changed and they could not look to her for promises.

"I will see you tomorrow?" asked Zoe as if it were not a constant but a recently established routine. It was as if the spell which had fallen upon the clearing - as Saphira and Eragon looked at her and she at them - was broken. The air felt lighter and their hearts no longer burdened by the dark truth that was death.

"Yes," said Eragon simply. It felt as if he was saying 'yes' to much more. As if by agreeing to see her the next day he was accepting what she had said - the truth that was death and the journey towards it.

_Yes, _echoed Saphira.

Zoe smiled. A warm, genuine smile and suddenly that other Zoe was gone and the younger version was back. The one whose eyes still sparkled with curiosity and interest - the one that Eragon knew and called friend. Just as that Zoe came back, he felt the older, the world wise, reserved and, yet, respected person that he was becoming slip away to. Leaving them just Zoe and Eragon; two friends who had come to trust and help each other.

Above them, glittering like beacons on a light house during a storm, the stars kept shining. Beside them, her heart free once more and her eyes alive with the fire of her race, was a blue dragon.

* * *

><p>He was walking down crowded streets, following the coppery red hair that danced in and out of the crowd.<p>

She led him past carriages that rolled side by side with carts piled high with produce.

Women in faded shawls carrying baskets full of flowers dived madly in and out of traffic as they tried to interest the occupants of various carriages in their wares. Drivers, in their neat uniforms, called out a one another and this noise added to the already deafening din. Someone, somewhere, was playing a noisy trumpet with no apparent skill. Yet Murtagh was not deterred. He could still see her.

While he walked in the shadows beside the buildings that lined the street, he slipped his magical disguise off as he pulled his hood on. It was a risk but he was hardly the only man hooded and shadowed walking these streets. Like a shadow he moved and everyone around him was too busy thinking of other things to pay attention to the silent, dark figure that maneuvered the crowd with such ease. He was invisible. Besides, Murtagh wanted to be himself if it came to a fight and save his disguise for another day. It was too much trouble to constantly be changing it around and that was a risk if he got into a mess.

Suddenly they left the crowded, main streets and Murtagh found himself walking down the narrow, shuttered streets of the working middle class. The farther they walked the dirtier and darker the streets became. Until, suddenly, he found himself walking down a deserted, dismal street that he had never, even in all his wanderings, tread before. The houses were shuttered and all of them in need of paint and repairs. Some had doors that hung half way off their hinges and their windows, if they had them, were cracked or so dirty that it was impossible to see what might lie beyond them. The smell that hung around this place was foul and he wrinkled his nose at it. There was no sign of life – no voices and no sound. Deathly quite. It chilled him.

Vivian was not in sight. He had lost her. Somewhere in these twisting streets she was gone and he inwardly cursed to have been so rash. Turning on his heel he retraced his steps and was about to turn off this street and back onto one that would take him towards the palace when he suddenly sensed something. Turning his head ever so slightly he saw three men turning out of an alley. He recognized them. Their faces had been on the lists of spies deployed to various corners of the Empire and beyond that he had seen when with Galbatorix. Faces he had been looking for.

_Brom, _he called out to the man through his mind.

_Murtagh, _came the immediate response.

Not waiting to explain he said quickly, _I may need you. _Opening his mind he flashed the images of how he had reached these forsaken streets. The story teller immediately seized onto them and then retreated while Murtagh, who had never slowed his walk, slipped down an alley. It might have appeared foolish on the surface but he wanted somewhere quiet to deal with this.

As he came to the end of the alley he stopped. The ground he stood on was wet and puddles of slimy goo dotted the ground. Murtagh choose to stand on a patch of relatively dry and stable stone.

Spinning around he looked at the entrance and saw them. The three men closed in. Murtagh readjusted his hood and silently thanked Brom for enchanting it so it would not slip and reveal his face. His right hand slipped to his belt and the fingers on his left curled up and felt the handle of the knife he had slipped up his sleeve. The men came to a stop.

"There is a reward for you," the figure on the right said. His hood was pushed back just enough to show his face. It was not a distinctive face and nor would one have thought he was a high ranking spy master. Murtagh knew it; he had been looking for this man these past weeks. Now they had found him and no doubt because Vivian had known he was following. Why was he such an idiot? The spy continued in his silky voice, his eyes sparkling with the success of capturing such a prize. "A big reward."

"Alive," another added. His eyes were sharp and cold like the eyes of a hunting hawk. The man moved and took up a position on Murtagh's left. Once more Murtagh recognized his face and once more he wondered that fate had brought these men to him when he had been combing the streets of Aberon for them.

"Though not necessarily unharmed," the third said from the left. He was the biggest of the three, and wore a dirty collection of mismatched clothes which strained across a heavily muscled chest. A dark smile curved up his face and he flexed his considerable muscles. Murtagh was far from intimidated.

"Funny how the world turns," the leader murmured. His silky voice softening until it was a deadly murmur. "You used to give us orders."

"You have not captured me yet," said Murtagh in an equally soft voice.

The man stepped back and spread his arms wide. "What are you going to do boy? Run?" His voice had a mocking edge that set Murtagh's teeth on edge.

"You can come quietly with us…" the man on the left said.

"Or we can carry you out," added the big one.

Murtagh sighed and glanced at the sun as if considering the provided options. He had already made his choice.

"In a hurry boy?" the first man said with a razor thin smile.

Murtagh's hand moved. It was a swift, practiced movement that drew one knife so quickly that the man did not have time to react. The knife was in his heart before he could realize what had just happened. His face paled, his eyes widened and then with a choking gasp he fell heavily to the slime covered stone.

A cool smile curved Murtagh's lips upward as he turned to gaze at the suddenly very quiet spies. He had survived for years because people always underestimated him. They looked and did not see the truth because he hid it. He pretended to be many things but the truth but Murtagh was much much more. He was a warrior. He had been trained to be one by Tornac. If he was to survive he had to be able to protect himself with a variety of disguises. Many people had made the mistake of underestimating him. It was a mistake these men had made to their detriment.

"I am stronger than you," said the second man with an arrogant tone. "I am not so easy to surprise."

"Neither am I," said the big one.

Murtagh sighed, "I'm sorry." Before they could react he spun his last dagger towards the big man who, because he was just a fraction slower on his feet, was not able to move fast enough and ended up with a knife buried in his ribs. The second man quickly danced backwards and out of range. As he did, he sent Murtagh a vicious glare but, before he could make his escape or call more help, he had a sword at his neck.

For, standing behind him, hooded and hidden was a figure that Murtagh had seen enter the alley while the spies had been focusing on him. In their arrogance and greed the spies had forgotten all their extensive training and not realized that Murtagh had called an ally to his aid. It was immensely satisfied.

Slamming his sword against the spy's head with enough force to knock the man out, the cloaked stranger glanced at Murtagh.

_How are you? _Came Brom's voice in his mind.

_Fine, _said Murtagh with a brief nod. _You? _

_We thwarted an attempt on Nasuada's life, _came his grim reply. _The Black Hand are operating faster now. Trianna and two of her magicians were able to locate the man who did it and even now they are following those leads. _

Murtagh knelt by one of the men he had killed and yanked his bloodied knife from the limp body before wiping it clean and slipping it away. Repeating the process he then stood and said to Brom, _I have to go and do something. Can I leave you to deal with this? _

The man stepped forward and gazed sternly at him under the hood of the cloak, _Only if you promise to be careful. _

Murtagh smiled slightly and felt a warm sense of belonging fill him despite the recent deaths and the chilling coldness of this alley. He had come to trust Brom and rely on him as he had once relied on Tornac. _I promise, _he rested a hand on Brom's shoulder. _I promised Zoe I would. _He meant the words to be light and easy but they weren't. They were a reminder of the words spoken to a girl who was far, far away. Those were unbreakable words that haunted his steps each time he took another risk, another chance at being captured or discovered.

_And you had better not break them, _said Brom with one of his famous glares.

Muragh smiled and then turned. There was a way out of this alley if one was a climber. Grateful for his gloves, he scaled the filthy wall and found himself looking down on another alley that faced another street. Looking back quickly he saw Brom already conferring with Trianna, the leader of the Varden's magicians, who must have just arrived. The woman glanced up at him and quickly nodded in greeting. He nodded back and then let himself jump to the ground.

He knew she was somewhere close by and, wherever she was, there was sure to be others and more information. Stepping forward on silent feet, he began to move down the twisting streets of the poorest part of Aberon. He was looking and searching with both his eyes and his mind.

It didn't take too long. He felt her and the strength of her mind when he walked past on of the oldest and most decrepit houses he had seen so far. Glancing at it, a smirk grew across his face as he took in the cracked windows, the dirty walls and the shadows that hung about it. He had promised not to see her again but sometimes promises had to be broken. She was alone, he could feel no other minds around hers and so he took a risk. Vivian would know he was here and this would be a meeting to remember.

In his mind, like reminding bell, echoed Zoe's words: _be safe. _

He would not break his word to her, the promises he made to Zoe he could not and would not break. The memories of her gave him heart and courage as he stepped towards this house. If this went wrong then he would be on a one-way ticket back to the cage of Galbatorix. Yet, if this succeeded, then he would be one step closer to complete freedom.

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><p><strong><em>Revised 26/2014_**


	50. Chapter 51

I was walking along the covered path towards Runon's forge, an isolated little corner where she worked away. I came this way often - every few days or so – most of the time I said nothing and neither did Runon. I merely watched and then left. Maybe I enjoyed seeing how she worked and how dedicated she was to perfection. This was a craft she had spent centuries honing until it came so naturally to her she did not have to think. It was also somewhat...maybe I want to say 'real?' In this place I felt as if I could remember what it felt like back out in the world that lay beyond this city. Time, for Runon at least, was of the essence if she was to create a weapon worthy of her forge or a suit of armor that would stand up to battle. But that did not seem to be the right answer to me and it had a hollow ring to it as if I was not diving deeper and uncovering the truth of my reasons or motivation.

So, anyways, here I was and I emerged out into the protected clearing where Runon, as always, labored at her forge. Yet this day she was not. It was so surprising and so out of character that I froze where I stood and stared at the scene in front of me.

The elf smith was sitting on a simple wooden chair that I recognized as coming from the small kitchen at the back of the forge that I had glimpsed on a few occasions. Sunlight filtered down between the leaves and the elf, for the first time, looked as if she was relaxing. Her face was not drawn with seriousness or the intense focus that blinded her to everything but what was in her hands. Runon's age suddenly seemed apparent and there was an air of quite watchfulness that only someone who has seen all there is to see and now merely watches can achieve.

Her eyes flickered over me and I was glad that it had become habit to wear my sparring clothes to her forge. It hardly seemed appropriate to wear a delicate elvish dress in this place and neither did I want Runon to think of me that way. Inclining my head in respect I spoke the traditional greeting that had become, since my arrival and constant use, a ready thing upon my tongue.

She considered me for a second and I remained silent, allowing my words and the vibration they caused in the still air to fade away like a memory. Then she sat forward a little and spoke in a voice harsh from disuse. "Nearly everyday you come here. Why?"

I stood, for there was nowhere to sit, and regarded the elf before me. Why did I come? What brought me to this place on such a regular basis? Was it because of the grim honesty with which Runon worked and seemed to provide one place that I could safely say was real in this place? Finally, summoning my voice which seemed so loud in this place, "Does it matter?"

Runon was silent for so long that I thought she would not answer and we would both be frozen here for the rest of time. Finally she spoke, "No." Then she leaned back in her chair and continued, "No. You are different and so I welcome you to this place." Her eyes sharpened and suddenly her peaceful, calm air vanished and a look more akin to the intense drive she showed when working came upon her. "What have you learned?"

The sudden change her attitude, the very air around us, sent me reeling for a moment before I was able to steady myself and consider the question she had posed to me. What had I learned? I had stood and watched a master smith at work and seen how she handled the tools and the item she was creating. I had seen how she called to it and yet also allowed it to grow as it wished. However, I was no smith and nor could I have replicated what I had seen if I was handed a piece of iron and told to make something.

I choose my words with care, "I have seen many things. But I still search for what I have truly learned Runon-elda."

The elf chuckled and the sound was like rocks grating against each other - unnatural and not altogether pleasing to hear. "You are a strange one girl. Surely you have learned something?" Gesturing at her forge she asked with an almost laughing edge, "How to forge a dagger? How to manage the bellows until your fire is white hot?"

I had learned something. It had nothing to do with forging weapons or things of beauty crafted from metal or jewels but something that one could not hold nor physically see. I had not learned the best way to handle a hammer nor anything else to do with a forge. It was something that was important for me especially as the days grew darker and the world colder. Maybe I can explain it; I can at least try to put words to it because Runon deserved it. I turned my face to gaze at the trees that surrounded us - at the bark of those trees and the way they were anchored to the ground - to reality - like pillars. Then I looked back to Runon and saw the way she sat, her gaze firm and her hands folded neatly in front of her as if she to, like the trees, was anchored to the very face of this land. It would take an earthquake to move her and it was that strength that I admired.

Du Weldenvarden seemed to exist in a place beyond time but in Runon's forge, standing and watching her work, I saw dedication and endurance. I saw something that had endured. She had seen the world rise and fall but she still labored on - never pausing and not stopping even as the world crashed down around this forest. She knew what was happening out of the safety of these trees and so she labored on to create things that would be needed before the end of this. Did she cower? Did she linger in guilt for creating the swords that had shed so much blood? Did she forget her purpose or why she was here because of all that she had seen? Runon had endured and with her a bit of the past when this world was young and not so stained by blood. It was easy, when I was with her, to see beyond the immediate future that seemed so dark and so ready to fall. To look beyond a future in which I could fail and condemn more than this world to Galbatorix. No, when I was here, I could look beyond and see something that comforted me. It was something that made me know that, regardless of what I had to or what I saw, I could and would endure.

Surely I had learned this lesson before? Surely I had seen what it means to risk greatly and take a risk which could destroy everything? Was I just being another dramatic little girl wanting to 'find herself' and end up a hero? The girl who never has to confront her faults and somehow finds her way through the battles and death to emerge bright and happy on the other side? No reader. That is not me. I am unsure and I am weak. Memories weigh heavily on me and so does the guilt of failure for I had not just let Ajihad die but others who had fought for me - for my family.

I had - of course I had - seen all of this before. However, it is a lesson that I needed again. I needed to see that there was more than ashes and dust. That one could endure through the loss and the sacrifice. The knowledge that one had to continue even when the burdens grew so heavy it seemed impossible. Sometimes memories of lessons once learned - of sacrifices made - are not enough when one is about to brave the tempest again and be asked to pay the highest of prices in a game with the highest of stakes.

I had watched my mother and I had seen how she had, like Runon, lived and endured despite knowing that the innocent and loyal died for her and because of her. No one can live blameless and sometimes one must question the very foundation of the world. Yet Runon - like my mother and many others - had shown me that if we are to do what must be done then we must not be afraid of the sacrifice and we must continue even when our steps are heavy. There is a risk, in every beginning is an end and every moment is a battle. The risk of living and doing the things that must be done if there is to be any sort of dawn.

Because living is hard. It is a battle and it is a fight that we never stop trying to win. We all break the same way but it is the ones who find a way to put themselves back together even with all the weight and the suffering that lingers long after the deeds are done. Shame is there to. Shame to be the last one standing on a field of battle and shame to be the one who thought they could but found they really didn't know what they were doing.

I smiled slightly as I turned my gaze once more to the silent elf smith who watched me with that steady, far-seeing gaze that refused to let one go. "I have learned something," I said evenly, "I have learned what it means to continue. To endure but to endure with a purpose and the knowledge that one must continue even as the world trembles and falls." I drew myself up a little straighter and met her gaze with all the strength I could muster, "Thank you for showing me that again. I had forgotten it. I shall not forget it again."

The elf suddenly smiled and there was something almost happy to that ageless and yet ancient face. For a second I saw Runon as she must have been when she was a young elf so many centuries ago. Then she nodded as if pleased and then she rose from the seat. She was taller than me and yet I did not cower nor did I shift my gaze. The smith rested her calloused hands on my shoulders and said quietly, "Then you have learned all I can teach you."

"Thank you," I said with a smile and then she stepped away from me.

"When it is time for you go," the elf paused and then continued, "Come here. You have proved yourself worthy of it." With that she returned to her forge and I turned to leave.

I left the tunnel of the trees and emerged out into full sunshine. My hair was stiff with dried sweat from my duel that morning and I still had a whole day ahead of me. The birds were chirping and the world, this world at least, felt so soothing and peaceful as if elves were not already preparing for battle. However, the calm and peace was deceptive and it merely masked the undercurrents of determination, vengeance and an urgency to save not only this forest but the entire world of Alageasea. It was nearly time. I heard that gravelly voice from my dream: _Be ready. _There were many mysteries that needed to be answer and many things that needed to be done.

* * *

><p>It was a very satisfying feeling.<p>

He felt as if he had just labored long and hard but the reward was well worth it. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his fingers stained with splotches of ink that had splattered during the intensity of his writing. His hand cramped from holding a quill for so long and he felt stiff. Yet, in front of him, stacked neatly on the desk, was a pile of creamy colored pages. He was rather proud of how the letters boldly stood out against the white and the way stack of pages felt in his hands. It was his work. Each of those words, each finely crafted letter was his and created by him in a language that was not his own but that he had mastered.

Rising from the comfortable chair he gathered his piece of writing and glanced out to see the fading gold sunset. Zoe would be here soon and he wanted to share with her what he had created for the Agaeti Blodhren. It felt strange, he had never thought of himself as a writer and while he knew he still had far to go it was also a warm feeling. He had created something that someone, one day, might want to read and maybe, just maybe, enjoy. It was a snap shot in time – a picture of his identity and his past – that was unique to this time and who he was.

During his time in this fair city he had become engrossed in the elves' epics. The flowing style, the simple words that conveyed so many complicated feelings and the way they caught his imagination. He supposed it was true with all good stories. One could relate and yet they spoke of things that one wanted to – things one may never experience and yet could imagine to. The written word, Eragon had decided, could inspire so many emotions and ideas.

Saphira had left to pursue her own project and he had been left to imagine what it might be. She had told him it involved fire but what she was using her fire to do was a mystery. She had told him that she would be gone for most of the night and he found himself burning with curiosity to know exactly what it was that had her so excited and so secretive.

Carefully making sure his desk was back in order after the flurry of creative inspiration he found the page of wards that Oromis had given him. His teacher had instructed him to cast them around both himself and Saphira to protect them from the more heady spells that would be awoken during the upcoming celebration. The elf had made no mention of Zoe and so Eragon suspected that his friend either had her own protections established or Oromis had already spoken to her of it. Placing the sheet with the spells in an obvious place he finished screwing the lids back on the ink bottles and neatly piled the scrolls that he still had to read that night.

Making his way down from the study he entered the bedroom and gathered up his sword before leaving the tree house. The small clearing in which he sparred with Zoe was close and it was there that they had their lessons in how to speak and act to. It was a peaceful place and it gave the two humans and the dragon some much needed privacy.

Eragon knew that his fourteen pages of writing was no master piece. He also knew that it could not match the priceless writing of the elves' or dwarves' great authors. However, it was true and he could speak it in the Ancient Language because it was true. It was a true tale, a tale that sparred no quarter or saved his pride. Yes, he was proud of it but because, by recording it all, he could see how he had changed. The things that had frightened him, the challenges posed by life and the things he had once wanted were now gone. They had been replaced by new ones and he was different. Some answers had been given to him and some questions still needed answering. He had not lied.

Zoe was waiting for him. Dark hair braided back and a warm smile on her lips as she turned to face him. "Eragon," she greeted and then her eyes fell on the papers in his hands. She raised a curious eyebrow and asked with a half-smile, "What is that?"

Looking down at the pages he felt a little bit of trepidation suddenly at the idea of sharing it but, knowing he would have to do it front of far more people than just Zoe, he steeled his nerves. "It is what I intend to share at the Celebration."

"Will you read it for me?" asked Zoe with a brief nod towards it and Eragon nodded even though he was feeling more self-conscious by the minute.

He wanted to apologize for his poor skill in the craft of writing but he remembered one of his more recent lessons from Zoe. She had told him that, to apologize for a skill one did not have was foolish and merely sounded like a weak excuse. One, she had told him, never got any better if they were constantly excusing themselves and not striving to be better. If one never tried then one would never know what they could do. Besides, the celebration was in three days. He did not have much more time to be trying to do something else and this was, he tried to tell himself, an honest account of who he was.

So clearing his throat he began.

_Over mountains blue…_

When he finished he looked up and saw that Zoe was gazing reflectively at the trees around them. Her face was quiet and she looked as if she was considering the words he had spoken. She was a part of the story – a friend who had been there – and he half-worried that she did not like being a part of it at all.

With a long sigh she turned and met his gaze with her own deep grey-blue eyes. "That is very pretty Eragon. It is also honest." She smiled and said, "I like the honesty in it."

"You like it?" he asked.

"I do," she said firmly, "I want to make a copy of it. It is like a reminder of how much things have changed. How far both you and I and Saphira have come since you left Palancar and I landed on my back in Yazuac. We do not resemble the people we once were." An almost sad smile crossed her face and she continued, "You should be proud of it. It might be a little rough but it is true. That is what matters."

He looked at her and for a long time he did not know what to say. She was right and he could only hope that those who heard him recite in a few days would see what she saw to. That it would not be one more embarrassment like his failure to hold his own when he dueled with Vanir was. He wanted to show the elves that he could do some things and had half hoped that this bit of writing would help him in his desperate quest to prove that he was worthy of the title of 'Rider.'

"Come," said Zoe as she drew her sword from its sheath by her side. "We should begin…"

* * *

><p>It really was not anything special.<p>

An old house that was in bad need of new paint on a dingy street where no one seemed to live at all and the only sound was the faint sound of dripping water. Yet she was here and it seemed rather fitting that the Black Hand would make their headquarters in this part of the city – a place few went and certainly none of the Varden. He noticed a pair of mangy looking dogs farther down the street picking at some sort of garbage that had been left on the street.

What is interesting, he had come to realize, happens mostly in secret. In places where there is no power. Nothing much of lasting value ever happens at the head table or in the grand ballrooms. Those who already have power will often glide along the familiar rut they have made for themselves. While those who have nothing but have a goal will pull the string from behind.

Moving forward carefully he examined the house for any signs of traps. There was nothing that he could sense right then and he had the feeling that most of the place's protection lay merely in its first appearance. Why make this place into a fortress if no one ever came into it? Gently pushing open the door, he found himself on a dark entrance. A hallway branched off to his left and there was an open room to his right. The walls had peeling paint and there was no furniture to be seen on this floor at least. A mouse skirted away from him and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was even worse on the inside. It was hard to imagine the fair young woman he knew living in such a place when he had always seen her walking down marble corridors with a retinue of attendants behind her. Times changed and war – desperation – made people into many things.

Looking to the ceiling he felt a small smirk grown on his face. She was upstairs and she was alone. On silent feet he moved towards the stairs and took his first step. The stair moved beneath his weight and there was neither railing to grip nor any light to illuminate the uneven steps. He was halfway up when his foot went all the way through a stair with a dull snap. The entire staircase began to sway, and realized that it was going to collapse. Acting quickly he launched himself up the rest of the way just as the staircase shuddered and collapse, crashing down below into the room below. Murtagh's chest slammed onto the landing; his legs dangled in midair as his fingers scrambled to grab anything from the faded carpet covering the upper floor to the smooth wood beneath it. He jerked backwards…

Iron hard hands grabbed his wrists…

Murtagh was hauled up and he found himself looking into the bright green eyes of Vivian. "Murtagh," she murmured as she placed him down gently on the landing. "What are you doing here?"

Murtagh rubbed his numb wrists. He was surprised by her strength – astonished actually. She had almost wrenched his shoulders out of their sockets when she'd lifted him straight up in the air. He pressed his hands against his chest where it had hit the ledge and took a deep breath. He was bruised but he didn't think he had broken any ribs.

Meeting her gaze he saw a spark of worry and fear in those cold jade colored eyes. "I am looking for you," he said as he glanced around them. They were in one large room. A bed was in one corner with messed sheets and a window overlooked a back alley with a twining vine that one might be able to climb down. A large, rather comfortable looking couch was on one wall along with a massive map and a mirror. A closet showed a small collection of clothes ranging from black leather gear to a soft blue dancing dress. This was where Vivian must make her headquarters.

The girl sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands. "I told you stay away," she said softly and he heard a note of desperation. "Why didn't you listen?" She looked very weak then to him. Her shoulders drawn together, face grey with exhaustion, her narrow body too thin and her hair was dirty. Gone were the noble woman and the silky spy. She stood unmasked and frightened before him. It hit him hard and he wished that fate had not brought them together so.

He rested a hand on her shoulder and said softly, "What is happening?"

She raised her face and shook her head violently, "I can't tell you. Go now. Leave. Please Murtagh!" Her voice rose with desperation and he wondered if it was desperation for herself or for him.

He felt his resolve harden and gently he put his other hand on her shoulder and held her still. They were both standing, looking at each other and he felt as if they had been transported from this dilapidated house to Uru'baen and the gleaming palace they had first met in. "No," he said, "you are my friend. Tell me."

She gazed at him and the silence that fell over them both was oppressive as their wills met in a clash. "I could not see what was right before me. I wasted so much time on you."

"Vivian," he began.

"Did you ever love me?" Vivian asked.

"No," he admitted. "I thought perhaps I could, but…"

Vivian nodded.

"I thought you did. I was so certain that you did, even though you never said it. I thought this mess would be temporary, even when it was dragging on and on. But it's not. It never was." Vivian turned her face away from him.

"You should think better of yourself than to settle for this," he said quietly.

"There isn't time."

"No," he said, "but we have enough to work together once more. One more time."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face, "Why Murtagh? Why? Can't you see there is nothing worth doing this for?"

"I've come too far to turn around," he responded even as he felt a small flicker of fear. He was risking more than his freedom. He was risking Zoe, the Varden, Vivian, Eragon and Saphira by coming here like this and risking so much. Everything could go up in flames and, yet, he had to. He had to risk the blaze and hope there was some way he could save both himself and the girl he had once called friend and then tried to forget only to realize that forgetting her would be a fatal mistake.

Vivian looked at him. She looked at him long and hard for uncounted minutes.

"Then let me show you," she said so softly he had lean in to hear her. "Let me show you have been missing. Because you have been deceived and it destroy everything you hope to gain."

She took his hand. And it was then that he knew. He knew there was no going back now and yet he felt the adrenalin – the thrill of the chase - and it was too late to pull the emergency brake now.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I am free! Exams are done and so I wrote this chapter in celebration. I do have a busy summer but I will have more time for writing now that one year of high school is behind me. So look for some updates! Yes - this is a filler but the next one will not be one at ALL! :) <strong>_

_**Thank you to my awesome readers! :) You guys are just soooo awesome and it really was a bright spot when I was lost in a pile of flash cards and textbooks! It totally killed my imagination and I am so grateful for all the suggestions you guys have given me regarding Zoe's creation for the celebration...SO THANK YOU! **_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**guitarmoreseknopfler: I am glad you liked the chapter :) I did make it through exams - yay! I am free once more and looking forward to summer! The next chapter will be about the transformation and how that affects Eragon and Saphira...**_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer: Thank you for the review! The modern world...that is an awesome idea. Hope you enjoy this chapter and look for some more SOON! **_

_**M.X.M. World Traveler: Thank you for all the ideas :) it is a challenge to think of anything let me tell you...hope all is going well with your story and thank you for the review! **_

_**rissmuso: Yes...it is one of those really bad grammer habits that I need to break. Thank you for reminding me of it! I am glad you enjoy the story :) **_

_**live laugh play music: I am glad to see you again :) hope you enjoy this chapter! **_

_**shin obin: hmmm...I am thinking! You will have to wait till the next chapter to see what she ends up creating :) thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter! **_

_**Jjidizzle122: Awe thank you :) I do love constructive criticism so please - if you see something - then let me know :) chapter length will be increasing once I am over these fillery little chapters that seem to be a necessary evil unfortunately :( hope to see you next chapter! **_

_**Chris: Yes the celebration part is the best :) hope you like this chapter and the next one will be up soon I hope! As well: thank you for all the suggestions you have given me throughout this story writing process :) **_

_**jabber185: haha well I am glad you like the story! even though it is a little rough around the edges - especially at the beginning. It has been a learning curve for me and one day I might go back and just rewrite it but it has been very fun! I will try and 'serve it up quick' now that school is behind me! Thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this new chapter. **_

_**EVA-Saiyajin: Thank you for your review - it really is awesome to get some constructive advice about my characters and my own writing style. I really will keep an eye on the Mary-Sue land especially as we move towards the next two books in the series. I am glad that you find the original characters to be sort of in-character because I do worry about that. No - Zoe really won't be able to rely too much on that timeline though I will use it as a building base for future events. Once more: thank you! **_

_Stay safe…_murmured that ghost of a whisper in his mind. _For me. _


	51. Chapter 52

I_ was running._

_ My feet moving swiftly down the smooth marble of the wide, high ceilinged corridors as my heart pounded desperately. I was gripping my bow to which an arrow was already knocked. Screams. Voices yelling orders and warnings. The sounds of swords meeting swords ringing off the stone of the walls. Smoke. Figures running. Swords clashing again. Cries of pain and of fear. Arrows flying. My quiver bounced against my back. I was dressed in a gown meant for bed not war - the white fabric was already stained with flecks of blood and offered little protection. _

_People running. Dashing through the hallways in a chaotic disorder that made it nearly impossible for me to identify what the threat was. Some already lay lifelessly on the ground while others gasped for air as blood began to pool around them. I was not at either Caer Daythl or Caer Calldren - this was a different palace all together and, while it shared many similar architectural themes with those places, it was still foreign to me. I knew neither where I was going nor why though I seemed to be running against the tide. People seemed to be going in the opposite direction while I seemed to be heading towards the noise of battle. _

_I did not stop running. My feet pounded against the stone floor as I squeezed in between the masses of running warriors, screaming maids and frightened children. I did not look back. My hair, unbound, caught against the armor of a running warrior and some was ripped out but I barely noticed the stinging pain. The sound of swords hitting swords rang out behind me but I did not pause - why I do not know. _

_"Pethred!" My older brother suddenly appeared through the smokey haze that filled the corridors. His golden hair was disarrayed and his eyes sparking with the adrenalin fueled clarity that filled all warriors during a battle. In one hand he held a sword that dripped black blood onto the floor before him. He caught sight of me and began to push his way through the masses of running people till he stood before me. His blue eyes quickly taking me in as if to assure himself that I was not injured. _

_My dream-self spoke quickly, "Where is Taren? Eomund?" My older brother quickly placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me forward as we resumed our run through the corridors. Where we were going I could not say but my dream-self knew and so I was carried along through the smoky corridors and past the dying figures of men and women that littered the corridors. Blood pooled in some places - the red of mortals and the foul black of Huntsmen, the foul creatures that carried out many of the dark shadow's wishes, mixing together. Safety seemed unreachable and I did not wish to find it - I wished to find battle and defeat the foul creatures that had infiltrated this place. I wanted answers and yet, as I had found out in other dreams, I was merely a passenger and not in control. _

_Pethred glanced behind and then said hurriedly, "I do not know. I lost them." He yanked me out of the way as a black feathered arrow streaked past me and then, his voice nearly inaudible because of the noise, he spoke. "We need to get..." _

_His words were cut off. Out of the smoke came the cruel, twisted face of a Huntsman. They were foul creatures, vaguely human in form but they hated our kind and knew nothing of love or kindness. They sought to destroy and kill. This one's yellow eyes glittered with the rage it felt for both my brother and I. In one hand it had a sword and it raised it to strike but my arrow flew from the smooth wood of my bow. I had seen the face and fired without hesitation. The creature fell dead and both my brother and I continued on - skirting the black body and not pausing. _

_A sudden crash made my brother push me towards the opposite wall. A window had been shattered by a large rock and shattered glass rained down on the two of us. Some of them cut through the thin material of my dress and one, large and jagged, opened a large gash down Pethred's face, but he did not seem to notice. Instead we continued on, our pace even faster now. My feet, clad in soft slippers better meant for a bedroom, slipped on a pool of blood and it was only my brother's quick grab of my elbow that kept me from falling. _

_The corridor opened up and we found ourselves in a large open, vaulted hall where staircases twirled down from upper floors in graceful spirals to the marble floor. Some of those staircases were now completely blocked as warriors did battle on them. Paintings and elaborate tapestries decorated the walls and torches flickered in the wall brackets casting strange shadows down on the battle that raged. We were on the ground level and, at one end of the hall, was a giant set of doors thrown open to show a dark night and more foul Huntsmen. The sounds of men crying out and the snarling battle cries of the Huntsmen filled the smokey air. Blood coated the floor and the flash of steel sent arcs of light across the room as the desperate fight continued on. _

_Pethred leapt forward, a cry of horror on his lips as he saw what I saw that moment as we paused briefly to observe this scene. Eomund. My brother was surrounded by snarling Huntsmen and blood already spreading across his shirt like a evil flower even as he dueled on. That his strength was failing was clear and that he was just about to be overrun was also apparent. I cried out to him but, before I could follow my eldest brother and leap to defend Eomund, I felt something behind me. I spun and saw a particularly large Huntsman bearing down on me. His cruel blade curved in an arc and it dripped crimson blood to floor. The cold yellow eyes glinted with triumph as he prepared to deliver a killing stroke. _

_I lifted by bow and fired a ready arrow towards him just as I rolled away from the swinging blow. I was in the battle now with nothing but my bow and no armor or knife or even my sword. _

_The dream changed. Yanking me away from the besieged palace and into another place. _

_I was in a stable. The sound of raindrops pounded against the roof and the chiseled heads of horses peaked over their stall doors watching me. The stalls were big and, at the end of the isle, was an open door that showed dark woods and pounding rain. Beside me was Eomund and Pethred, all of us armed and dressed in heavy, black soldier cloaks that would help shield us from the rain. A ranger passed me the reins to a dark grey stallion and smiled in farewell before heading back towards another open door that probably led back to the main buildings. Then, suddenly, I was following my brothers toward the door and then I was outside with the stallion beside me like a warm, secure presence. _

_The rain was cold and it quickly soaked my hair even as I moved to pull my hood up. I quickly mounted as did my brothers and then we were moving. The icy rain drops coming down hard and unyielding as we made our way down a path lined by trees. We were in the Wild - I knew that. I also knew we were leaving the safety of the main settlement behind and heading down the path that was normally used by those traveling towards Caer Dathyl. It was a long ride home and, on a night like this, it could prove deadly. _

_Our pace quickened. The stallion beneath me moving with powerful assurance down the muddy path, leaning into the bridle a little for support as we navigated the narrow trail. The dense forest beside us was dark and only lit by the occasional flash of lighting. Why were traveling in such a storm - towards Caer Daythl - was beyond me and so I had to follow my dream-self as I rode in between my two brothers. A loud clap of thunder nearly made me cry out as the sky was suddenly lit by a brilliant flash of forked lightning. Everything around me was alive and yet also bracing itself against the raging storm with its torrents of wind and rain. The rain hit my face as I bent low of my stallion's neck to avoid a branch. This was a miserable ride. _

_Another flash of lightning brightened the surrounding forest. The trees illuminated by the white light that made their wet leaves glitter for those brief seconds. My heart beat was drowned out by the explosion of thunder that followed. I did not know what was happening but I did know I had to match my brothers' pace as we hurried away from the warmth of the settlement and into the Wild. _

_My eyes fixed on the dark shape of Pethred in front of me. He guided his red bay mare through the trees with effortless ease along the twisting path that had been carved through many centuries of use. His dark cloak was dark with rain and, he to, was bent over his mare's rain drenched neck as we rode at a speed that could not be called safe in such conditions. _

_I suddenly heard something else. The sounds of heavy feet and a malveolent presence to my left set my nerves on edge. Surely there was nothing this close to the settlement? Unless it had been waiting for us and now chose to strike. Thoughts of ambush on this dark night sent my heart beat speeding up. I could see nothing but darkness behind the flying tree trunks but that did not mean there was nothing there. Suddenly I felt watched and it made me want to pull my sword out even though the glimmering blade could act as beacon. _

_Something moved again, this time closer to us and on the right. Then again to the left. We were being followed and the path was too narrow for us to ride side by side. We were perfect targets. I slipped my bow from my back and, with one hand to the reins, I slipped an arrow to the string and held the weapon ready. The stallion, Melyngar was his name I remembered suddenly, pulled against the reins and I gently loosed the contact so he could balance better as he ran. _

_A high-pitched cry came from my right and echoed through the raging rain. I knew that cry - would know it anywhere. It was the blood-curling cry of a Huntsman as they prepared to deal out their hatred. I loosed an arrow in the direction that it had come from and was rewarded by another cry - this one of pain - as we thundered on. _

_But the respite did not last long. Movement came agin, this time farther in front of us and I suddenly felt a thrill of fear for Pethred would be there in just a few strides. Before I could reload my bow, a arrow swept from behind me and towards the shape of the Huntsman as it leapt forward. The arrow had been Eomund's and it was a true shot despite the rain and the speed at which we moved. The creature let out a sickening cry as it fell backwards and into the underbrush. We did not stop. _

_A flash of lightning illuminated, to my left, the distorted face of one Huntsman. His yellow eyes glittering with hatred but not for long - I had used some precious seconds to find an arrow and now that arrow lodged itself in his throat. I turned back to face the direction we were headed. Soon we would come to another settlement - this one much smaller than the one we left behind but well defended. If we could make it... _

_The trail dipped down. Our horses splashed through a stream swollen with rain to form a small river. For a second my horse was swimming and the freezing water lapped against my legs and splashed all over me as the current pulled at us. The freezing water making me cry out in surprise. Then we were out. Back on the trail and our horses galloping on even as I felt myself start to shiver violently._

_I knew the Huntsmen were close. I could feel it and sense their evil presence with my mind. All my questions were forgotten in this wild ride as my brothers and I struggled to make it towards safety as the rain fell and our enemies hunted us through the dark trees. The rain hitting the ground with a fierce kind of determination as if wanting to wash everything away. _

_Another movement and this time there was more than one dark thing moving beside us. A black arrow buzzed past my face and one of my own twanged towards the source. The reins in my left hand were slippery with water and I had to drop them if I wanted to shoot with any kind of accuracy. More black arrows flew at us, missing the three of us by inches if not less. Eomund and I returned fire as Pethred drew his shining sword in front of me in preparation. _

_A Huntsman lunged through the trees and I slammed my bow against his face. I pushed my horse onwards even as I felt him falter on the slick ground. There was no time - we were surrounded and the only hope lay without outriding them now. I pushed my bow away and drew my sword as I picked my reins back up. Arrows were useless now and I was forced to swing my blade widely as a creature lunged at my horse. Metal hit metal behind me as Eomund dispatched another. More Huntsmen jumped. More and more of them and I knew it was hopeless even as I swung my sword and Melyngar pushed onwards. _

_I felt my insides start to burn with magic. The power flowing through me and warming my chilled, wet body as I sat a little straighter on my horse. Everything inside of me was telling me to use it - to allow it to blaze out of me in a incantation that would save my brothers and I. But I had to be careful not to spend myself now when I might need my strength more later on. The wind shrieked around me and the rain seemed to have become heavier. I felt alive. I felt clear headed and so alive as if the world had just been sped up. _

_In front of me I saw Pethred slash at a Huntsman even as he galloped onwards. Then, before I could even guess at what happened, I saw a Huntsman jump at Pethred from behind. I cried out even as I urged my horse faster as if I could somehow get there before the creature could...it was too late. The creature slammed against my brother with a force that made my heart freeze. A dark blade stained red with my brothers blood and then the creature was falling off as my power surged forward and killed it. It was too late. I had been too late. I could see a deep wound on my brother's side and I knew I had to get to him. He would not stay mounted for long. Another flash of lightning lit the sky. _

_My stallion surged forward and suddenly I was beside my brother's mare. The tree branches smacking us even as I jumped from my horse to my brother's. I landed behind him and reached around and took the reins from his limp hands. He was terribly still. He was not moving even as he gripped the mane of his horse with his remaining strength. His blood soaking us both even as the rain pummeled down. Behind us galloped my now riderless stallion and Eomund. _

_My power blazed around us. I let it go - let it fill the air around us with a shield of hard air. Though, even as it held and protected us, the more Huntsmen that battered against it the harder and more taxing it was for me to maintain it. I was strong but I could not hold a hard wall of air, while galloping a horse down a path made slick with mud as I tried to keep my brother from falling off, for long. I had failed - was failing and it made me both angry and frightened. My brother was loosing too much blood and I could not save him. I pressed the weary horse onwards. Thunder boomed. Huntsmen shrieked their anger at not being able to reach us. _

_Then I saw it. Tiny orange flickering lights lay in front of us - close and drawing even closer as we galloped towards them. Soon we would be there and, even now, we should have alerted the patrols that guarded the area. Even through the heavy grey of the rain I could make out the buildings that formed the small settlement and the wall that surrounded it. We were almost there. I pressed onwards and poured my strength into the wall - the shield - that guarded us. We had to make it. A little longer... _

_My brother was unnaturally still in my arms and I knew he did not have long. I did not know how Eomund fared and there was no time to reach out mentally and ask. All my focus had to be on riding and my magic - there was no room for error. Even as we drew close to the village it seemed to move away. Then I felt the evil minds of the Huntsmen draw away as we drew close to the settlement - they would not follow us now but wait for another chance. A patrol would have to be sent out to deal with them in the morning. Such a large group could not be allowed to remain so close to our settlements. _

_The gate was open and I saw the faces of Rangers waiting for us, swords at the ready as the torches flickered in the rain. The lighting illuminating the buildings even as our horses hit the stone of the street. I let go of my magic and felt exhaustion slip into my body as the magic and adrenalin began to fade only to be replaced by fear as I caught sight of Eomund. His face was too pale - one had clutched his side and I saw that blood was streaming from between his fingers and down his side. He had been hit and his face was so pale, too pale, and drawn with pain. No. No. No. _

_The dream was beginning to fade. I did not want to go. I wanted stay and make sure my brothers were all right - I wanted to find out why we made this desperate ride through a storm and ambushes to make it here. But my mind was waking. I was returning to my living body and I could not stay…_

I woke drenched in sweat, trembling with adrenalin and wrapped in my blankets as if I had tried to strangle myself. For the rest of the night, I sat on my comfortable window seat and stared out at the silent garden.

* * *

><p>I sat quietly at the vanity table in my bathroom as Rina carefully plaited my hair with expert fingers.<p>

The elf maiden's long golden locks were already pulled back and braided with small glittering jewels that flickered like tiny lights any time the delicate strands moved. She had brought me a dress - a pale rose gown that fell delicately around me. It was both formal and yet comfortable to. The neckline was covered with thin strings of silver that laced with one another, falling over my bare shoulders and down my arms. It was the kind of dress that I had once worn long ago and now, to feel the satiny silk brushing against my skin was like stepping back in time. Only this time it was the eve of the Agaeti Blodhren, the elves' three day celebration in honor of the dragon oath.

I had been surprised that Rina had come to assist me with preparing for the Celebration and that, according to her; Islanzardi had had the dress made specifically for me. It was both a nod to my status and to the alliance that had developed between me and the Queen of Du Weldenvarden. However, I did not question Rina but merely nodded my thanks and tried to calm my racing nerves as she assisted me with the dress and, now, with my hair. I knew what this Celebration would bring and, as always, I was madly hoping that somewhere along the line I had not changed things so that the coming event would not occur.

The maid patiently finished the last braid and then began to weave them up with small strands of silver. When she finished, Rina stepped aside, hands clasped before her, and said with a faint smile, "You are ready my lady."

Never before had the phrase sounded so ironic to me. I was ready - at least my hair and dress were - but inside I was not. I was not ready for what would come now. I glanced at my reflection once more as I stood and the dress fell around me in glittering waves of pale rose and silver. My reflection looked back at me. A few months ago I had been blissfully unaware of my true heritage and purpose but now I knew. I would never have imagined that I would be standing here, looking like royalty, waiting to attend an elvish celebration as both an ambassador for the Varden and dwarves but as crown princess. Every single aspect of my reflection was perfect from the dress to my cool mask, and I could hardly recognize the girl that had first arrived in this land - terrified and struggling to come to terms with a truth that I had never guessed at.

"Thank you Rina," I said with a warm smile as I pushed those thoughts away. "I hope you will also be at the Celebration?"

"Yes," said the maid with a smile, "I will." With that she turned and left - leaving me to make my own way towards the clearing where the Menoa Tree waited. It was almost time and I would, according to Arya, be given a place of honor beside the Queen and the Riders. Slipping on the light shoes that I often wore in the forest, I left my chambers and made my way towards the front gates of Tildari Hall.

Arya, her mother and accompanying retinue were already there. They all glittered like in the weyr lights with jewels glittering and formal robes in every color you could imagine. Their fair faces were alight with the excitement of what was to come and bright smiles only added to the glittering display of elvish beauty before me. To see them before me, so fair and immortal, made me feel like a common flower jammed into a vase beside flawless roses.

Greetings were exchanged and then I fell into step beside Arya. The princess of Du Weldenvarden was dressed in a gown of pale, icy blue that shimmered as she walked beside me. Her raven hair was pulled back and braided up with many small strands of pearls and silver strands. A delicate circlet was also woven into her hair and she appeared to be an exact replica of her mother to me right then. The two, raven haired and proud, could not have looked any more identical then they did then. Beside me, dressed in robes of shimmering grey, walked Lord Dathedr and his face was set in a smooth mask even as he sent me a small, acknowledging smile.

We came to a stop in the clearing of the Menoa Tree. Arya motioned me forward and I found myself standing beside Oromis garbed in red and black, Glaedr, Eragon who sent me a nervous smile, Saphira and other elf lords and ladies I had met before. Islanzardi moved to stand upon a raised root at the base of the tree, glimmering in the flickering witchlight like a shimmering mirage on a hot day. Nothing felt real and I found myself glancing around the clearing trying to take in the scene before me. Never had I been surrounded by such fair beauty and magic lay heavy on the air almost like an intoxicating drug. I doubled my defenses and tried to ground myself to the real world as the magic swirled through the air.

We waited, silent and expectant, until the stroke of midnight, when Islanzardi raised her bare left arm so it pointed toward the new moon as if, in my opinion, she was summoning a lightning bolt. A soft white orb gathered itself above her palm from the light emitted by the lanterns that dotted the Menoa tree. Then Islanzardi walked along the root to the massive trunk and placed the orb in a hollow in the bark, where it remained, pulsing gently.

Eragon asked Arya softly, "Is it begun?"

The elf let out a carefree laugh and nodded her head, "It is begun!" She smiled then, a smile so radiant that it was at odds with the cool, icy elf warrior I knew. Suddenly she was not the same person - I could not say I knew this Arya for she was fey and seemed to have forgotten the burdens of command and rank. I was suddenly glad for my wards. They protected me, at least a little, and let me look at the world with a clear eye.

So it began. I remember little of the celebration. When I asked Eragon and Saphira of it later they also spoke of how little they actually remembered. It was like a dream when you know you are dreaming but cannot wake-up. There were dances and songs about heroic deeds and quests by ship and horse to forgotten lands. The music was both joyful and sorrowful as if it was celebrating the new but mourning the lost. It was a mixture of real instruments played by skillful fingers and the music sung by the magic. When it mixed together I could no longer tell which was the product of an instrument or a product of enchantment. Whatever it was the music made me feel so light and free that I could have been forever lost among its haunting melody had it not been for Oromis's warnings. For as long as I lived, when asked about it, I would remember that music and I would wish I could hear it again. It entered my heart, my soul, and reminded me of things long forgotten and things that were to come.

There were other things to that I remembered. Creatures dark and strange haunted the shadows and reminded me painfully of the dark things I had once fought in my own land. Many were animals that had been changed by the accumulated spells in the forest and I felt sorry for them. How unfair to be changed by magic until you no longer resembled your kin? A change you had no control over. I could sympathize.

I remembered the wonders that elves had created for the celebration. Things of such beauty and craft that they made me gasp just to see them. There were toys, puzzles, art, weapons and many other things that were all on display during those three days. Runon had created a shield that would not break as well as a beautiful sculpture of a wren in flight that, to me, was the most beautiful thing I had seen her make during my time at her forge. The bird looked as if it was real and I could almost reach out and touch its feathers.

The most noticeable thing though, was the change in the Menoa tree. No longer was it a normal, patient tree. Now it seemed to be alive and its branches stirred even without a breeze and, sometimes, it seemed that the tree also added to the music. The creaks of its trunk strangely in tune with the flow of the music, and an air of gentle watchfulness emanated from it as if it was glad that such a celebration occurred beneath its giant branches.

It was on the third day of the celebration - something that both Eragon and I found out later - that both of us delivered our gifts. Eragon preformed his own story and did it with a skill and assurance that would have made any bard in the land jealous. He did it without pretense or any attempt at sugar-coating but it was so painfully honest and true that no one could dispute that each emotion and event was not true. It was in that truth that the piece found its power and, by the end, I felt tears prick my eyes. Even when Eragon ducked his head and returned to his seat, praise came from many sides even from the cold Queen of the forest who seemed to look upon the young Rider with new eyes.

Saphira was next and her gift was a black stone. She had melted the glossy rock and molded into intricate curves that wound about until one became completely lost. There was no end and no beginning but only one delicate swirl that transformed into another and another. Glaedr to presented his gift and then Oromis and then...me.

I stood, my dress swirling around me in a soft cloud of pale rose and silver. My nerves had been long forgotten in the magic of this place and so I walked to the place I was to deliver it with no hesitation. I really have you to thank for this - you were the one who braved my bad temper and gave me ideas. Thank you.

Raising my voice, I spoke clearly out towards the elves who had gathered, "My gift to this celebration is a song. I cannot say my voice is the fairest nor my lyrics the cleverest but it is my gift to this celebration."

With that I flicked my fingers and, obeying my command, came a soft tune that I had created for this song. It was not a long song nor was it the fairest that had ever been sung under these trees but it was mine. It was a song about letting go but never forgetting. My song was about coming back even though you would not be the same person who had left - a song that made me feel a little more hopeful, a little less afraid and a little more determined.

As I finished and allowed the music to fade away with my magic, I smiled ever so slightly and inclined my head. It was done and now I could rest a little easier knowing that my turn in the spotlight was completed and I had not performed a major mess-up while I was in said spotlight. Many clapped, some called out names like 'Silver-tongue' and Lord Dathedr told me that he would like to hear me sing it again one day soon. Islanzardi merely smiled and yet, in her guarded gaze, I saw that she too had liked my song and perhaps had identified with some of the themes contained in it.

The celebration was coming to a close though and I had not forgotten, even though the music had tried, what was to come. Around the tree, the host of elves gathered and they looked so radiant and so expectant as if what was coming was the best thing in the world. Maybe it would be but maybe, because of me, it might also not happen. Call me a worrier but the weight of the future does not allow for mistakes and I feared I had made one by accident and without knowing I had.

Islanzardi took her place on a gnarled shelf over-looking us and the moonlight glittered on her crown and her snow white dress. "As is our custom, we have met to honor our blood-oath with song and dance and the fruits of our labor. Last this celebration occured, many long years ago, we were desperate indeed. But that has changed and the results of our efforts, the dwarves', and the Vardens', we have come to see a little light at the end of this dark tunnel. Much remains and Alagaesia still lingers under the black shadow of the Wyrdfell.

"Of the Riders of eld, only Oromis and Glaedr remain. However, Eragon and Saphira have come and it is their right to be here as we reaffirm our oath between our races three."

At the Queen's signal, the elves cleared a wide expanse at the base of the Menoa tree. Around the perimeter, they staked a ring of lanterns mounted upon carved poles, while musicians with flutes, harps, and drums assembled along the ridge of one long root. Guided by Arya I found myself seated beside her and Eragon with the dragons crouched behind us like gem-studded bluffs.

When all the elves were settled, two elf-maids walked to the center of the space in the host and stood with their backs to each other. Moving in unison the two elves raised their hands to the brooches at their throats and removed them to reveal the tattoo of a dragon. Every scale was a different color and the entire thing looked terribly alive in the flickering weyr light. Soon it would be alive – a dragon of magic and memory would soon take flight. Fate seemed so heavy then.

The music began. The two elves each lifted a bare foot and brought it down on the packed ground with a soft thump.

Again. The thump seemed so loud now.

Again. They began to move. To dance at such a speed that it was almost impossible to tell which was which.

Faster. They began to sing. The magic began to build and I felt as if the very air was pulsating with it. Faster. Faster. Then a flare of light ran the length of the dragon tattoo, from head to tail, and the dragon moved. Yes dear reader - it moved. My heart beat sped up now in time to the fast beat and the magic that was swirling even faster now and with greater urgency.

It blinked, raised its wings and clenched its talons. It was awake. A burst of flame erupted from the dragon's maw and he lunged forward, and pulled himself free of the elves' skin, climbing into the air, where he hovered above us. The tip of his tail remained connected to the twins below and yet he was also very much distinct. He was alive. Awake and looking at the assembly before him with the air only a dragon could have.

His gaze fell first on Eragon and there it stayed for a brief moment until it turned to me. It looked at me and I felt as if I was frozen by that look. Suddenly I was unable to move, unable to look away as the power of that apparition washed over me like a wave. A voice echoed through my soul and then images came. _You must act for us. We need you to complete this task. _

_I was looking at a grand manor house and somehow I knew this was Morzan's home and, at one point, Selena's to. I was suddenly inside and speeding through corridors lined with paintings and tapestries. I was flying through closed doors and passing through walls and rooms as if I was nothing but a ghost - a ghost visiting a memory. Suddenly I stopped. I was in a vaulted treasure room. Chests lined the floor and were stacked in precarious piles but I was only to look to one. I drew close and the lid flew open and inside I saw a red dragon egg. An egg that was the color of blood and flecked with black veins…_

_The image changed and I was in Du Weldenvarden. _

_An arch, a stone arch in the middle of the forest, was before me. Beyond it I could see the forest stretching on but there was something here. I could sense the power here, feel it even in this strange vision. Runes were carved into the stone and I wondered what they said - this place was ancient. _

_The dragon's voice echoed through my mind. Come here. As soon as you can you must come here and we will take you to the egg. Hurry. Glaedr knows the way…_

The voice faded. The dragon turned away and once more I could see the clearing before me. It was as if no time had passed at all and, yet, I could feel the hammering of my heart and feel the thrumming power of the dragon. I could see the manor house and the strange stone arch. Even as the dragon turned to Eragon and my friend stretched out his hand and received the gift of the dragons, even then, I could still see those images. I was barely aware of my friend collapsing as the curse was removed and I was barely aware of the events that occurred next. I was just going through the motions - pretending to be there even though I was lost in what I had seen and heard.

_Hurry. Glaedr knows the way. Hurry. _


	52. Chapter 53

As soon as I was able to, I left the Menoa tree.

My thoughts and the emotions that came with them were too much for me to bear in silence. I had been barely aware as it was of Eragon, unconscious, being taken back to his own tree house or of Saphira and Glaedr preforming their duties in the celebration. I was barely aware of the elves that spoke in hushed tones of what the dragons had just done and what it might mean. I was so out of it in fact that I barely was aware of Islanzardi's words as she spoke of the bond between Riders and Dragons.

No, my thoughts were speeding around at about the same velocity as a train about to derail. I could not concentrate on anything but them and so, it was with a great deal of relief, that I slipped away and made my way back to Tildari Hall - evading the various parties set up by elves throughout the forest city as I did so. I did not want to be roped into anything and so, like a pale rose ghost, I clung to the shadows of the trees and met no one.

Finally I found myself pacing the silent corridors back to my rooms. The sounds of my footsteps echoing hollowly on the marble of the floor and I felt very alone. I was the only one who knew what I knew and I could not turn to anyone right then. I was alone just as I was alone as I paced these corridors. Even as I opened the door to my chambers, even as I stepped inside and closed it behind me, I felt hollow and drained of everything. I felt isolated by a cage of my own making and yet it was not my choice to be caged but the events of fate that had bound me so.

I found myself walking on silent feet into the tiled bathroom with its mosaic of colors and large vanity table. I had sat there a little while ago and worried about Eragon. Now that worry seemed foolish and minor compared to what I now had to think of. I rested a hand on the smooth white wood of the table and raised my head to look at myself. The magic of celebration seemed to have settled around my face and dress to give me an almost elvish glow. I looked so different - that face so different.

I stared at my reflection and my thoughts began to spin around again and with them came adrenalin and a burning desire to know just a little bit more. Adrenalin and the magic of the celebration seemed to be driving away the cold emptiness now and giving me a new kind of clarity even thought I had not slept for three days. My hands tightened around the edge of my vanity table and I found myself not really looking at my reflection but the various possibilities that played out across the mirror. Had Galbatorix decided that he would keep Thorn's egg at a safe distance? After the loss of Saphira and the death of both Morzan and Selena had he turned to the manor house that Morzan had layered so many spells around? Had he then layered more until he was confident that no one would be able to circumvent the various wards and traps without his knowledge? I could almost see it now, a King looking for a safe place and choosing one that was no doubt abandoned and feared by all who knew who had once lived there. Close but not too close. Abandoned and feared but still someplace that no one would ever guess a priceless dragon egg would be hidden.

I needed more information - I needed that dragon to come back this instant and do some bloody explaining! I was sick of this. I was sick of doubting my every footstep and move! I was sick of worrying about the future and, when I was finally feeling a little bit better about it all, this bomb was dropped on my head! A quest - delivered by a creature formed of magic and imagination - that threatened to overturn everything. Worse, if I did manage to make my way to the egg and get back without being killed or captured then would it still hatch for Murtagh? Would the dragon meant for him hatch and turn into Thorn?

I groaned in frustration and spun on my heel. I wanted my gear back and my weapons. I wanted to run and run until I came to this bloody arch and, then, find out exactly how I was supposed to traverse thousands of miles and then, as if this was not sounding impossible already, retrieve an egg defended by every enchantment known to man. I wanted to punch a wall or burst into tears! I did not know what to do and it was making my breath come fast as my heart beat sped up.

I reined my emotions back in ruthlessly and forced myself to slow down and think. I forced myself back from the brink with the kind of determination that only comes from discipline - the discipline I had honed for years. With my mind back together, my emotions buried deep and my thoughts slowed I began to think and consider the entire situation with a ruthless attention to detail that gave no room for anguish or fury.

The first step would be to go to Oromis and Glaedr. However, if I did go to them then I would have to tell them the biggest secret of all: that I knew a possible future for this land. I would have to tell them the real reason I was sent to Earth and I would have to explain, in detail, not only why I had kept this secret but the danger that drifting too far from this one future could cause. It was a far from ideal situation to be in and, yet, I knew the truth would out sooner or later. After that conversation I would have to inform both Arya and Islanzardi which would mean another conversation about why preserving as much of the old story line was important ect. ect. I knew that Arya was planning on leaving within the week for the Varden and she had offered to take me but I had refused. My duty as ambassador meant I could only leave if war threatened and that day was soon enough.

The big problem, as if there was only one, was convincing them that this had to be done. I knew it had to - I had felt the dragon's urgency and I had felt as if I did not do this task then the entire world would crumble to dust. However, everyone knew my capture would be a deadly thing for more than this world and that, just as Saphira and Eragon had to be kept safe, I did to. It was the uncomfortable truth: I was a dangerous ally but also a potential downfall if I was captured.

I sighed heavily and wished, more than ever, I had someone to help me remove the shining strands of silver from my braided hair. I wanted someone to help me from this dress and listen soothingly as I vented all the problems I faced. Rina would no doubt still be celebrating and, for all I might want her company, I also knew that my burdens could not be so easily shared. I glanced out the window and saw that dawn would not be far off - less than three hours away. When morning came I would need to set the ball in motion and make some difficult decisions.

I moved from the bathroom and entered my bedroom. I went to the large windows and rested my arms against the sill. The gardens before me glittered and sparkled with a mixture of moonlight and the magic which thrummed on the currents of air. It was a beautiful sight - calm and peaceful in the silver light.

The glass of the window reflected my face. It was a slightly distorted image but it was still my face. It was my face. Despite the glow and the strangeness I had seen just moments before, it was me. I had worn many masks over the years but I had come to realize that the most important was my own face. It was what I did with that face that mattered far more than any of my disguises ever had - then any of the lives I had played with. I had seen this image, this reflection, plenty of times before. Sometimes she looked tired. Sometimes she looked wild and frightened. Sometimes she looked wet. Sometimes she was crying and sometimes she was laughing. This girl, in the window looking at me with wide eyes and a pale face, was always with me. I knew this girl well. So why did I think she was capable of this? Of going and following the order of a creature created of memory and magic as the moon shone down? Who was I to do this to her? To risk what I might be risking? This girl who did not really know all she could do and who did not even remember some of the most key events of her life - this girl who looked at me now - who was I to ask this of her?

The reflection shimmered and yet it seemed to solidify to. As the magic slowly left me and reality came crashing in, I felt myself steady and become surer of things. I would press on even if the road seemed so twisted and tangled that it was no road at all. I was Zoe of Angard of Llyr, a princess but also much much more than that and my weapons were honed to a fine edge. A task I had been given and, even if I doubted that task, I would see it accomplished. It was my duty and I knew the weight of duty all too well. This was my face - my fate.

This face looking back at me - with hair braided with silver and eyes the color of a stormy sea - was my face. It had always been my face even when I had lived on Earth and now, as I fought in this land, that girl was me. That girl who doubted and feared and laughed and cried and made friends and was prone to all the anxieties of a teenager was me.

My face. My choices. My memories. My life.

I would go.

Outside the celebration continued and I could hear the music. I could still hear the magic and the wind mixing with the instruments to create a melody so enchanting that it would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. Sleep pulled at me and soon, so soon, I found myself slipping into darkness and yet, like a command, the words of the dragon echoed on and on. I could not forget and I was beginning to believe that I could not disobey that order given with such urgency and desperation.

Even that night, so far away from home and even as exhausted as I was, I dreamed.

_"This makes me look like a stuffed doll," I complained to the elegant dark haired lady with the gleaming golden circlet. That lady was my mother and she was currently sitting by the window as the fall sunlight streamed inside and illuminated the carpet of my bedroom. I was currently standing, very still, as a seamstress pined fabric around me and adjusted it. The decorative embroidery, delicate though it looked, scratched and the bodice was uncomfortably tight. _

_"It is not supposed to be comfortable," said my mother as she turned her head ever so slightly to send me a sharp look with those eyes that were mirror images of my own. Though, while the color may have been the same, her eyes gleamed with the power of her station and it only added to the cloak of elegant reserve that hung around her. Though, right then, she might have been any other mother reminding their child of manners and proper behavior. _

_"I do not want to wear something that makes me look so silly," I said as I gazed at my reflection in the floor length mirror before me. The seamstress, used to such conversations when attending her queen and crown princess, said nothing and remained detached as she efficiently folded and tucked fabric. "Why must I wear it mama?" _

_"Because," said my mother as she looked back outside, "you cannot always shirk your duties at Court for the Wild my daughter. Rangering clothes are all fine and good but they are hardly suitable for a dinner with the representatives of the merchant guild." She folded her hands neatly before her and did not glance at me. _

_"A new dress is necessary?" I asked the question desperately as I finally admitted what was bothering me. It was not the idea of wearing what would surely be a beautiful dress but the idea I needed a new one when my wardrobe seemed to overflow with them. I had been living simply for the last few months and only venturing home when I was required to and another dress was an extravagance I did not want to deal with then. The quiet seamstress finished her work and left with a quick curtsey as if anxious to leave before this conversation turned into a duel of words. _

_My mother sighed and turned to face me looking like she was close to gripping me by the shoulders and shaking me. I knew I drove her to distraction with some of exploits and she was well aware that many of the more dangerous ones were kept hidden from her. She was just like any other mother watching as, not one but three of her children, went off to battle and took positions of command that were not only demanding but would quickly strip them of their innocence. It made me feel incredibly guilty and it was because of that, the fear I knew she felt for us, that I made every effort to return when I said I would - hopefully in one piece or at least send plenty of messages warning of my lateness or giving reasons for why I could not come. _

_"What shall I do with you child?" asked my mother in a voice which was no longer as calm or reserved as it had been before. "Your absences and deeds have earned you the respect of the people but the contempt of certain Kings and Lords. They use it to further their own arguments that your breaking of tradition is a sign that our house is no longer fit to rule as it has done for the past Age." She moved forward until she was standing before me and her eyes met mine - freezing me in place. "For once in your life pretend these things matter to you. For a larger purpose you must - it we are to quell a rebellion before it has time to grow. Pretend to be like the other girls walking the halls and not as if your only purpose is with a sword in your hand." _

_"I understand mama," I said quietly as I lowered my gaze to the floor. "I am aware of it and guessed at your motives when your missive arrived at the settlement." I raised my eyes and met my mother's which, as they always were when she was alone with her children, were completely devoid of the wall that divided her true emotions and identity from the life she lived as Queen - a life lived in the public eye. "I shall do my best." I said the last line as if it was an apology and a promise to. _

_My mother rested one of her cool, soft hands on the side of my cheek and a very said smile crossed her beautiful face. "I never worried about that." She paused and then added very quietly, "Never…"_

_Now I was in an elegant sitting room with comfortable chairs scattered about along with tall bookcases, a thick rug underfoot and large windows that overlooked one of the numerous gardens tucked in various places around Caer Daythl. Elegant carvings adorned the shut door and, as the dream grew clearer, I found myself not alone but with my two brothers and Taren. A pale blue dress swished around me and I realized, quite suddenly, that I was both a great deal shorter then I now was and that, according to the mirror, I was a great deal more child-like. It was the face of a nine year old girl who still had quite a bit of growing up to do and had yet to learn any grace. My brothers were also quite a bit younger though I suspected Pethred had probably started learning the sword - he grew rather insufferable and big-headed for a time after that. Eomund, who was still a young child, and Taren, who was the same age as Eomund, were both sitting on the same, large, chair. _

_Pethred crossed his arms "You must walk like a faun in the woods. Not like a duck." _

_"I do not walk like a duck!" I snapped. _

_"I like ducks," observed Eomund diplomatically. He was already, apparently, showing his skill at diffusing sibling quarrels at the young age of six or seven. My brother glanced sideways at Taren who had his nose buried in a book while his dark hair flopped down into his face. His young eyes were already serious, too serious for the young face they belonged to. There was something so charming about the way he read his book as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world. _

_Turning away, quite grumpy now, I snapped, "I'll just go then." My voice took on a huffy note as I began to stomp in a way that would have made my nurse frown darkly at me, towards the door and, hopefully, away from such rude companions as my brother and cousin were proving to be. Throwing them a glance over my shoulder as I opened the door I said, "I don't need to listen to boys natter on about ducks!" _

_"Your words are most unladylike," said Pethred with a grin around the apple he had drawn from his pocket. _

_I rolled my eyes and, as I shut the door, snapped back at him, "And you are just stuck-up!" _

_His laughter followed me even as the dream descended into jumbled, random images. It was just as I was beginning to rise up towards waking that I heard that voice again...that voice that rumbled with fire and ancient power. A dragon's voice. _

_Hurry. Glaedr knows the way. Hurry. Be ready…_

* * *

><p>Eragon was alone when he woke. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the ceiling of the rooms that both he had Saphira shared. The night still reigned outside and the sounds of the elves' revels drifted in on the warm summer air, heavy and intoxicating.<p>

His body felt strange. As though a weight that he had been burdened with for too long had just been lifted and he could, once more, walk tall and strong. Before he could reach out to her, she touched his mind and once more he found himself wrapped in Saphira's warm mind. She radiated concern and, even though he soothed her as best he could, she still found reason to ask, _How are you? _

Eragon considered the question for a long moment. He did not really know how he felt. Maybe alive? Maybe for the first time for a long time did he feel as if he could look at the world without the pain tinted lens of Durza's curse haunting him. _I feel well. How long have I been out? What happened? _

He only remembered vaguely stretching out his palm, his right hand, and offering it to the dragon created by the elves' magic. Then, he thought, the creature had touched the heart of his gedwey ignasia and then...pain. That was all he remembered. A pain so intense that he had been forced to retreat deep within himself as everything burned red and black.

_Only a hour. I was needed here to complete the ceremony. You should have seen the elves' reaction when you fainted. Nothing like this has occurred before. _

_Zoe knew. _

_Yes. _she responded and he sensed her unease even though this was not the first time they had been reminded of their friend's knowledge and her commitment to silence. The two were silent and then Saphira said, _Look in a mirror. Look and see what my race has given you. Then rest and recover and I shall rejoin you at dawn. _

She withdrew and left him to slowly push himself upright. He had dressed in the formal tunic, leggings and boots gifted to him by the elves in honor of the celebration and, because of the silvery fabric with its delicate embroidery, he already had a slightly elvish cast to him. The reflection in the mirror however, even though it was different then the face he had once worn only a few months ago, was not what he expected. He had expected the same slow changes that all human Rider experienced when they were bound with a dragon - the slow sharpening and angling of his face.

This was not what he saw now.

The face that looked back at him was smooth and flawless with the faint warm glow that hung around all elves as if reminding the world of their resistance to aging and their affinity for magic. Now, after the changes wrought by the dragons, his face was smooth and angled - just like an elf's. His ears tapered to points, just like an elf, and his eyes were slanted. He looked no longer like a human but a fair elven prince garbed for a formal dinner and dance.

On closer inspection he noticed that his face was a little too broad, a little too rugged, to be truly an elf's face. He was too fair to be called a human but not quite fair enough to be an elf. It, decided the Rider with a faint smile, suited him. Not one thing but something else - something that crossed the two races and understood what it meant to be them both.

Yet, there was something far more pressing then his face to worry about. With trembling fingers, Eragon reached around his neck in search of his scar.

There was nothing.

Just smooth skin as if he had never felt the bite of Durza's blade or endured weeks of his curse. Tears, unbidden but full of gratitude and emotion, sprang to his eyes and he found himself unable to fully grasp this sudden gift. He would never experience the agony of that wound again - never would he be reminded of his failure to defend himself in the moment he truly needed to. That part of his life was behind him. It was a liberating feeling.

Not only was his scar gone but every other blemish that had marked his body like a record of some of his more reckless childhood adventures. From the scars that had reminded him of his first flight on Saphira to the one he had gained while sharpening Garrow's scythe to the small ones that any boy gained as they tumbled through childhood. He felt no regret. How could he? He had been given new lease on life and the relief of being able to feel like himself once more was a gift he could never find words to properly describe. There was a little pain to think that no mark remaind of his old life but it was quickly quashed as his heart soared with freedom. No longer was he bound by shadow and pain.

He was now a Rider. It felt right to be like this. To look at his face now, even though it still looked so strange to him, felt like a journey had ended and a new one begun. It was time to shed the burdens of the past and start a new chapter. To look forward with eagerness and not regret.

Eragon glanced outside. It was a beautiful evening and it seemed as if everything was sharper from the stars to the leaves to the very air that hummed with magic. He wanted to be outside and see the world with the sharpened clarity of elvish sight and touch and smell. It seemed a shame to spend the remaining hours of the night waiting for Saphira when he could be out and a part of the wild beauty of this night. It was a fading dream - a soap bubble - and he wanted to feel it so that, when the world grew dark, he would remember these moments of lightness and joy.

Smiling, he descended from tree and walked the shadows of the tree city. He made no effort to engage with any of the elves he saw, though they greeted him as one of their own. It was nice, he reflected, to be accepted and not watched with eyes that flickered between pity, disappointment or down-right contempt. Now, for this moment, he was just one more person wandering the shadows as the Celebration came to a close. He could have joined any one of the numerous little celebrations scattered through the city but he did not.

His aimless path led him past the Menoa Tree, where he paused to watch Saphira amongst the festivities, though he did not reveal himself to those in the glade. He merely admired his partner of mind and heart as she shone brightly with a mix of magic and her own happiness. Beside was the golden bulk of her mentor, Glaedr, and, to see them both, was like a vision of what past Celebrations must have been like when the Riders still ruled. Saphira noticed him but said nothing, understanding that he wished to be alone with the new sensations and emotions flowing through him. There was no sign of Zoe and he wondered where she was.

It was then, as he began to wander away, that he realized Arya had also left the glade. She was walking slowly through the forest, her icy blue gown flickering in the starlight. He followed her a little ways into the forest, to the point where one felt as if they had stepped back into the natural wild. Where there was no magic heavy on the air and the music was muffled by leaves and trunks. The princess came to a stop in a clearing and raised her pale face to look up at the bright night sky with its thousands of stars. She looked fey to him then - more then she had ever looked before. As unreachable as the highest star in the sky all cold in her sparkling beauty.

Eragon paused. He could make his presence known or he could leave. He could allow the elf he called a friend this moment of quiet away from the wild magic and swirling music of the Menoa tree or he could show her the change that he had just undergone. But he wanted to speak with her, to show her what had happened and so, calming himself, he emerged into the open space between the dark trunks.

Arya spun when she heard him and her eyes widened in a mix of shock and utter amazement. Her dress swirled around her in a cloud of palest blue and her hair, gleaming with silver and jewels, caught the moonlight and flashed. "Eragon," she murmured in a voice so soft that he needed his newly heightened hearing to catch the faint words. "What has happened to you?"

Eragon sensed she did not mean to say it that way. That the question was something she had not meant to say but, to see him like this, had been something she had not counted on - even in her dreams. He shrugged, "I do not really know." It was the truth - whatever had happened to him was not something he knew how to describe. Besides, he was suddenly aware of how alone they both were. He could see the individual little jewels and strands of silver in Arya's hair and he could nearly taste the scent of the wild flowers.

The elf princess searched his face, her verdant green eyes looking for something in his face but she did not seem to find it. Instead, on soft feet, she moved closer to him and came to a stop just a few feet away. "What now?" She sounded unsure to him, as if not sure where they now stood and so, for the first time, Arya looked to him even though he was so young and so untried.

Eragon looked up at the stars and wondered why they could look so unchanging even as his world was sent to pieces and then rebuilt in such a different way. When he found his voice he knew his answer offered little comfort or assurance for he had none to give. He knew as much, if not less, then Arya did about the entire situation. "We go on. What happens now I cannot say."

He felt older now. He was less worried about proving himself. It was as if the insecurities that had burdened him and made it hard for him to act without wondering if he would fail, had suddenly been lifted from him. On this night he was just Eragon. He was a person who had found peace with the past and the future and so was able to just to exist in the present. There was nothing to prove and nothing to defend but all to gain. His blood pounded with magic and his eyes seemed to find simple beauty wherever he looked.

Arya sighed softly and then gestured towards the woods. "Let us walk," she murmured. "The night is almost spent and I shall be leaving soon."

Her words were heavy and, while he knew she had to go, he did not like the idea but, as he took her arm, he said none of that. Duty called to her just as duty told him that he had to stay and complete the remainder of his training. Arm in arm with Arya, Eragon walked the dense woods that echoed with enchanting music. They said nothing but both of them were completely aware of the other's presence and found comfort in it. This was the last night they could walk together, saying nothing and not worrying about the future. Both intended to make the most of it.

They stopped on the bank of a narrow stream. It was clear stream and as cold as one of the mountain streams that made their way through the mountains of Eragon's childhood. Bright rocks glittered on its bottom and fish darted this way and that in the cool water. Young willow trees grew along the banks of the stream and there was something both ageless and free to this place.

Arya removed her arm from his and he turned to look at her ageless face. He said nothing for he did not know what to say or how to say it. Sometimes, he had come to learn, it was better to say nothing and let all the words that could never describe what he really felt fade away. The elf seemed to be searching his face and he saw both trepidation and sadness in her eyes as if, she to, knew that whatever friendship they had enjoyed during their time together before the Celebration had come to a close. Now he, Eragon, was changed and the world was speeding up. No longer could they walk together and speak of little things. Now they were going to war. It was that simple and so complicated.

"Fare thee well Eragon Shadeslayer," said Arya and her words echoed in the clearing.

"Fare thee well Arya Drottning." He replied and the farewell seemed so formal, too much like one of Zoe's lessons and not like something he wanted Arya to leave remembering. So he took her hand and said softly, "Thank you for..." he found he did not know how to finish it. There was so much he wanted to thank her for and yet he did not know how to say any of it. Her hand, rough from swords, was warm within his own calloused one.

Arya smiled a little, "You do not need to thank me." Her words were soft and her eyes were deep pools of green, "I wish to thank you for your friendship." The elf turned to face slightly away and looked to the opposite bank of the stream, "We will meet again soon."

To meet again soon and once more see and speak with the elf princess was enough for Eragon. He knew that the friendship between him and the elf was one of the greatest treasures in his life and he would never let it go willingly. Both of them had things to do and places to be but that did not mean they would not once more see and speak with the other.

This was not the end.

This was the merely the continuation of that friendship and Eragon knew he would come to rely heavily on the calm words of Arya as the world grew too dark for him to find his way. Suddenly there was no feeling of loss or regret but only the joy that comes from knowing that there is someone you can count on - someone who you trust enough to give you the truth no matter what.

Arya turned back and he saw his own feelings mirrored in her green eyes. There was nothing more to say and so, once more arm in arm, the two left the ageless clearing. They walked side by side and, as they walked, the moonlight glinted off of them until they shone and sparkled among the dark trees.

* * *

><p>Murtagh rocked back and felt as if his head was spinning.<p>

No. No. No.

How could he be such a complete fool? How could they have all been so deceived? What now? The Varden needed to be mobilized and he needed...his thoughts were spinning from one thing to thing until he forcibly slowed his racing mind and forced his face to remain clear. To confirm Vivian's words he breathed out, with soft horror, "Galbatorix is mustering an army."

"Yes," murmured Vivian and she rested a hand on his shoulder. They were standing in front of the map and the girl had just showed him, using thumb tacks, the movements of the Empire and how the army, numbering close to a hundred thousand, was being summoned and which direction it would travel. "Now you see," she said and her voice turned bitter. "You will all be destroyed."

"No," he snapped and anger helped clear his head. "No we will not all be destroyed," he drew away from her hand and faced her head on as if to challenge not only the dark truth in her words but everything that she stood for. "Anything else I should know?"

"I have told you all I can," she said softly. "There was a loop hole in my oaths that allowed me to tell you of the army movements and their battle plans. That is all I can share." She paused and then said even softer, "I do not want to think too hard on it or it might become impossible for me not to try and kill you." Her gaze had a frightened glint to it and Murtagh knew she was walking a fine line - just as he walked a line so thin that it was hard to know if he still walked it.

"Not even where the rest of the Black Hand is?" he asked it with a faint smirk but he was surprised by the answer she gave.

"Besides me," she gestured at herself with one grimy hand, "you only have one more commander to capture. We are the last in either Surda or the this part of the Empire. If you destroy the two of us then the weaklings we control will be scattered to the wind and unable to act with any decisive action. They rely on us for orders and do not know how to contact other members." She paused briefly and then continued, "That does not mean there are not those who are inside the Varden but we have no one in any positions of high command. I cannot share their names but they rely on us to transfer information."

He nodded and looked out the grimy, cracked window that was the only source of light. "Where is he?"

She shrugged and said quietly, "He should be coming here within the hour." Her gaze sharpened and suddenly Murtagh felt wary - just as he had felt when he knew she was about to suggest something completely crazy. "You could hide here and..." her voice trailed off suggestively. "Then leave and report back to your...commander." She said the word 'commander' as if it was a joke. It was as if she guessed that his loyalty did not truly belong to Nasuada.

He considered it and looked around the room. The couch would make the best hiding place and it would not be too difficult if he could only be sure that Vivian was actually on his side. So far she had been honest - he knew her well enough to know when she was lying - but that did not mean it would extend to protecting him. Did he stay and remove this threat or did he go and hope that another chance would present itself? But, just as he opened his mouth to speak, they both froze. Vivian's dark green eyes widened and she grabbed his arm and yanked him towards the couch. Her fingernails digging into his arm as her grip tightened with fear.

"Hide," she hissed in his ear as she pushed him towards the narrow gap between the piece of furniture and the wall.

For, at the same moment, they had both sensed the presence of someone else - someone powerful and assured - moving closer to this house - to them. The presence was still faint, still too far away to really identify, but he sensed that it, like Vivian, was not the mind of a commoner but the dangerous, scheming mind of someone used to games of power. It was coming closer and whoever it was would soon be here. Drawing his mind together, Murtagh did his best to conceal his presence even though he doubted it would work.

Squeezing himself into the narrow gap he removed the long, thin dagger that was slipped up his sleeve. The sound of someone moving below drifted up through the floorboards and, from a small hole that went through the fabric of the couch, Murtagh watched as Vivian smoothed her dress and took a seat on the window frame. She looked completely relaxed and Murtagh rather admired the ease with which she drew on a hard cold mask that concealed her fear and bitterness.

Footsteps could be heard and then, with loud creaking noises, the sound of someone jumping and then catching something before pulling themselves up. Then footsteps again and then, appearing in the door, came the figure of a middle aged man. He was not particularly striking in dark clothes that were neat but had the air of nearly been worn out. Neat grey hair, cut simply, with pale blue eyes and a rather big nose. Yet, even if at first glance he did not look at all dangerous, to Murtagh the greatest danger lay in that simple disguise that was so easy to overlook but so hard to create. Whoever he was, however he had become this person, this man had never been on one of the lists of spies Murtagh had seen. That meant he was a new recruit or had somehow escaped Murtagh's attention or memory. This was no amateur nor a professional gone soft but someone as deadly as Vivian herself. How was he supposed to dispose of this person quietly?

"Vivian," came a silky soft voice and the man inclined his head to the young woman who watched him by the window.

"Lucian," said the young woman in an almost bored voice. "What is it?" She might have been sitting doing needlework in a palace not sitting on a grimy windowsill in a decrepit house.

"We have lost many today," said Lucian. There was a grim look to him now and he moved forward on silent feet until he was just a few feet away from where Murtagh was hidden. "The Varden are on our trail. Their new spy master is clever and quite willing to play at our level."

"So?" asked Vivian coldly. "They are still blind to the truth. The Varden will soon be destroyed." The girl tapped a finger against the wood but said nothing more.

"That may be," said the spy master and then with a heavy sigh he cast his gaze around the room and then seemed to decide the sofa was the best sitting place. "We still have to find the boy."

The words sent a chill through Murtagh for he knew that 'boy' most likely meant him. The man sank into the sofa and leaned back making the furniture creak and forcing Murtagh to press even harder against the wall as the gap was narrowed considerably. Vivian meanwhile was looking bored and, when she spoke each word dripped sarcasm, "So? That is your specific task Lucian. You seemed quite certain you could succeed on your own."

Murtagh knew he had to act and act now. He needed to act before the spy realized that there was someone hiding behind the very back of the piece of furniture that he was sitting on and that, most importantly, that the person was he - Murtagh. The knife was poised in Murtagh's hand and he steadied his already soft breathing until he was ready. Counting in his mind to three and then he sprang from the narrow gap and sent a mental spear towards the spy as he threw the blade.

The spy cried out in surprise and sent his own wave of mental attack towards Murtagh but he was a fraction too late. He was just that fraction of a second too late to save his own life. The blade, thrown with deadly aim, found the man's heart and, a second later, the fight was over and Murtagh felt his heart hammering in his chest. He had been killing that day and he hated it. He hated the way the dying breath rattled in a person's throat as their eyes glazed over and the blood began to spread. It sent a cold chill through him and he wondered, like he always did, if he was just another Morzan. Just another killing machine that would never be free.

Murtagh glanced over at Vivian and saw that she was rather pale. The girl raised her eyes and met his gaze. With a faint, shaky laugh she said. "That was fast."

"I had to be fast," said Murtagh as he glanced back at the dead man. "He would have realized I was there any moment. I'm surprised he didn't the moment he walked in."

"I know," she murmured and then slipped from her seat. "Now what?"

"I need to go," said Murtagh but even as he said so he looked at Vivian. She was the last commander and Galbatorix would know she had betrayed him the second he took a moment to look in on his Black Hand organization in Surda. What now? To leave her was to leave a dangerous enemy and, worse, a friend behind. She was a friend who had helped him many times before and had just done so again. Murtagh did not know what to do or what to say.

Vivian gestured at the window, "Come. I will show you the way back."

She turned away and yet they both knew that they needed to come to some sort of agreement. They both knew they could not keep going like this and not confront the very real issue that everything has a price and Vivian's actions were especially expensive for her. Murtagh bit his tongue and knew that, for now, he would have to follow her and hope that an answer would present itself.

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><p><em><strong>Revised 26/2014**_


	53. Chapter 54

I woke as the dawn light spread its warmth across my bed.

The bright light streaming in through the windows and casting dazzling sparkles across the room and rousing me from my sunlight was bright and cheerful just as it was after a thunderstorm when the world feels new again and bursting with life - with promise of future prosperity.

I groggily pushed myself upright and looked outside at the garden where the flowers were open. The sheets fell back and I shivered slightly as the cool morning air touched my bare skin. I knew I had to leave the warmth of my bed and begin my day but it was hard. So often recently I had woken up this way and known that my day would be peaceful not full of things heavy with fate.

I left my bedroom as soon as I dressed. The palace was very quiet and I seemed to be the only one able to brave the brilliant sunlight and venture outside. My head felt a little fuzzy but sleep had done much to clear it and I felt rather normal considering I had been celebrating elven style for the past three days. I had literally been dancing from sunset to sunrise and back again.

I had the feeling that Eragon and Saphira would also be recovering this day and I half-wondered what had happened between him and Arya. Had the time spent teaching him of the proper time and place for words stuck and saved their friendship? Or had he told her of his true feelings and frightened her enough for her to cut everything of. Had she chosen to leave without even a goodbye? I could not be sure but I hoped something had interfered.

My feet took me along the path from the palace to the place I knew I had to visit first. Things could wait but first I had to talk with Oromis and Glaedr and I ran down the path towards the Craigs of Tel'nair. I had walked this path every day since Oromis had first invited me to his cottage and I knew the twists, the turns and the trees that lined it to the point that I did not really need to watch where I was going.

I hoped, for I knew how weak Oromis was, that he would be able to speak with me. The magic of the celebration could not have been easy for him and, the better I had come to know him, the more I saw how he struggled to maintain his current level of health. Eragon and Saphira could not have come any later if they wanted to train with elf Rider and his golden companion. What could I say? Did I tell him everything - right from the start - about how the story of Eragon and Saphira had made its way through the Gates into Earth? How I had learned it during my brief stay there and then carried all that knowledge here? I had to explain that before I told them of my mission. If I did not explain it then Oromis would not understand the full implications of this act - this change of the pattern - and I needed his advice. I needed Glaedr's help and I had the distinct feeling that they knew what this arch was.

I emerged from the trees into the sunny clearing that opened up in front of the small cottage. The leaves on the trees fluttered in the summer breeze and the picture might have belonged in an Impressionist water color it was so tranquil. Though, I doubted any Monet or Pizarro would have placed a golden dragon or silver haired elf in a water color. For Glaedr was stretched out on the green grass, his golden eyes gazing out at the horizon and, beside him in a chair, was Oromis in his familiar white robes that could have been an advertisement for stain removal they stayed so pristine. It was hard to look at them they were so blinding. I stepped forward, unsure if they were aware of my presence or not. Before I could speak, Oromis did in his clear, bell like voice.

"Zoe," he did not look my way even as I stepped up beside him and inclined my head, first to the Rider, and then to the golden dragon who blinked once at me.

"Oromis-elda," I said quietly as the Rider, at last, turned his ancient stare to me. His eyes were weary and I saw the lines of exhaustion on his face along with a pained glint to. An urge to provide some sort of comfort grew within me but I knew that the Rider would not appreciate that - he did not want to be treated like an invalid even though my heart ached to do something for him that would ease the burden he bore.

"Why are you here?" asked the Rider as he shifted slightly in the chair.

Before I could answer, Glaedr rumbled in my mind, _Sit upon my front claw. I think you plan to speak for some time._

I smiled my thanks and sat down on the warm golden paw, drawing my knees to my chest as I did so. The grey eyes continued to gaze unwaveringly at my face. "I need to tell you something and, if I am to do that, you need to promise me that you will guard the secret I share with you until the end of all things. You have to trust me on this." My voice was quiet but firm and I saw the Rider's eyes widen slightly at the seriousness of them - at the promise I wanted from them both. They were silent for a gratifying short period of time.

"We promise," said the two together and the strength in those two words made me rock slightly. They hummed with power and truth - for a moment I wondered at it and the wisdom of asking a promise from them.

Tension was making it hard for me to sit still and my heart rate seemed unnaturally fast. I felt as if I was about to engage in a fight though there was no fight. It is hard to tell such a thing, it is hard to look at someone you have not told the truth to and tell them. It is hard to tell a truth that you have long hidden and protected. I had to tell it now and, for all I wanted to, I would rather never have placed this burden on their shoulders. Gathering my voice and the words I needed to speak, I began.

I began at the start. I began with a book with a picture of a blue dragon and how that book led to another and another. How an author, a young one, had created an entire universe based around a land called 'Alagaesia.' I told them how that book was fiction and why I had been sent to read it - why reading that book had been important enough for me to live on Earth. How, already, I had seen much of what occurred in the books happen around me and, even more importantly, what had changed either because of my meddling or merely because of my presence. When I fell silent the sun was bright above us and my throat was dry from speaking so much and the brief moments in which I could not restrain the emotion that such things roused in me.

"What happens again," said Oromis, "if Galbatorix succeeds?" The elf was very calm, his face implacable, and yet I could see faint lines of tension in the way he sat so still upon the chair. He was merely concealing his true emotions and, as for Glaedr, the dragon had said nothing during my speech and gave no sign of what he might be feeling.

"Then everything is lost," I said quietly. "Not only in this world, but in all the myriad worlds and universes. Billions of lives, tens of billions, will be lost." It was a heavy statement but I was committed to telling the full truth even if that truth frightened me more then anything ever had.

"And you know the future." It was statement not a question.

"I know one future. In that future, that strand of time, things worked out."

"How do you know to trust this information?"

I sighed heavily and nervously clasped my hands before me, "I do not know, I can only hope. I have seen evidence that it is true and that the future I know does happen like it did in the books. I have meddled but I knew you were here and that Brom was meant to die..." my voice trailed off and images flashed before my eyes of a stormy night in which I had ridden to my friend's defense. Of how I had felt while I waited for Oromis and Glaedr to appear as I stood beside the Queen and her courtiers. I had not always believed things would happen like they had in the books but, for the most part, they had.

The elf reached out and placed one of his thin, dry hands over top of my own, clasped ones, and I was forced to meet his eyes and confront him in a way I had been reluctant to do after such a speech. I gazed into his ancient, kind face and waited for what seemed an age.

"I understand," he said. "I can see why you never spoke of it before and, while I sensed something hidden about you, I never guessed it was of this magnitude. You will go and risk fate for this task?"

I met Oromis's grey eyes and said quietly, "The tides of fate are flowing Oromis-elda. I would not turn away now."

"Even if it means the end of you?" he asked. "The end of all of us?"

I looked out and saw the sun and I saw the pale sky stretching out in a great dome. I turned once more and gazed at the elf. I saw him clearly then, as if I could see beyond his implacable mask of calm reason and empathy. He was tall, like all elves were, and his silver hair fell in a rippling waterfall. There was no sign of age in his face until one looked into his eyes and then you could see it. They were clear and bright, and yet profound, with uncounted memories within them. Still, despite this and the frail look to his face, he sat erect and proud.

"I will go," and the words fell from my lips like heavy stones as they had the last time I had turned and made a choice that could save or shatter a world. "I will go and see what may." I knew as I had known many times before. I turned to face things I had not wanted to face until now and I made my peace with them.

Glaedr lowered his head to meet my gaze and said, in a voice as final as my own,_ I will go with you._

_Thank you,_ I told him,_ I know you do not want to._

He chuckled and suddenly I felt as if I understood a little better who he was and how the long years had made him hunger for purpose and adventure once more. He was a dragon - not a treasure to be fawned over and guarded until the end of time. Even without his one front leg he was still mighty and as dangerous as a tidal wave held back until it breaks through the walls that restrain it. This chance to steal back a dragon egg was exactly what he wanted to do. It was a chance for both him and his Rider to fly with a purpose and strike back against the ruler who had taken so much from them.

_But I do_, said the dragon and we both understood then.

Oromis sighed heavily, "We must speak with Islanzardi before anything is done."

"I know," I said as I turned to look once more out across the cliffs toward the line where sky met forest in a shimmer of blue and green. "But no one else. It is too heavy a secret for me to share easily with others. I do not word either of my knowledge or of my quest to go beyond a select group of people."

"What is your plan?" asked the elf. "You have no way of reaching Morzan's keep and no idea of what waits for you there." His voice was quiet and yet it was honest to - demanding an answer that was true and well thought out. I had none to give.

"I have no plan," I said quietly. "I do not know what waits for me. I can only trust in the message that I was given." It was a poor answer and I hated it - I hated all of this because I did not know enough and I had not known enough for a long time. Gathering myself together, I continued and ignored the doubts that tried to creep in like shadowy tendrils. "The dragons showed me an arch. A place in Du Weldenvarden - do you know of it?" I looked from Glaedr to Oromis as they fell silent in a way that told me they were speaking to each other and knew of what I spoke.

_We know of it_, said Glaedr quietly and the words were uncharacteristically hesitant.

"The place you speak of," said Oromis seriously, "is forgotten by most elves. It is a remnant of some distant time, before elves and humans came here. How it came to be there and how it works has never been discovered." The elf drummed his long fingers against the chair and continued, "Whatever it is the Riders of Old avoided it."

My mind was racing. It was racing down a line of thought - of possibilities - and suddenly I understood through some instinctual understanding. It was an understanding backed by a memory of something similar in my world. A kind of gate that had taken me from one world to another as easily as jumping into a still pool. How convenient! If this place, this arch that led nowhere, was what I thought it was then I was one step closer to accomplishing the task set before me. My heart was thrumming with excitement and I felt as I someone had just handed me a key to one of the problems I faced. I was one step closer.

"I know what it is," I breathed out the words and Oromis looked at me with surprise. "It's a gate," I continued my words coming faster now. "It is a gate that I can use to get to the egg and then to get back." I looked at Glaedr, "You can take me there and I will go on alone."

Oromis sighed once more, "Islanzardi will not let you go if she finds you have no plan and no idea of what waits for you."

"I have to go," I said firmly. "The dragons showed me the way and I know what I must do."

Glaedr rumbled deep in his throat, _I will take you there and wait for you to return. If the memory of my kin showed you the way then would not have done so lightly. You must trust to them and let them guide your footsteps._

I looked at the dragon and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his endless support and continued belief in the message given to me. It is awesome to have a dragon on your team especially if the opposite side includes a ice queen and your own insecurities. "Will Islanzardi be able to see me?" I asked Oromis and the Rider sent me a long suffering, worried glanced that made me feel both guilty and more determined than ever. "Could she come here?"

"I will send for her now," said the Rider."I can only hope she will be willing to listen to what you have to say."

"Tough for her," I said right back.

Because, through the following meeting with Queen in which she questioned every little detail, I knew I would go whether she said yes or no. And, perhaps because I was so certain of what I was doing, the Queen of Du Weldenvarden gave in and agreed. She did not like it but she didn't have a choice.

None of us really had a choice anymore.

* * *

><p>They hurried from alley to alley, street to street, never once did they utter a word to each other nor pause in there twisting streets of this part of the city like an endless labyrinth that threatened to turn them around and lead them back to the house on the dark street where a dead man lay in his own blood and street dogs fought over an old bone.<p>

Murtagh knew they were close to the palace. The streets had begun to subtly change from the lowest of low to slightly more middle class and, soon, they would be coming up on the back of the wall that encircled the palace. Once there…well he had no idea what to do. He did not know how to deal with the painful truth that was Vivian could not escape free for, sooner or later, she would once more face him and there would be no loopholes in her oaths to prevent her from acting as the King wanted her to. Could he knowingly let her go? Could he watch another friend be lost to the King? She would face unimaginable pain and tortures he did not dare think of and, when Galbatorix was finished, there would be nothing of the friend he had grown up with. Even now only shreds of that girl remained and they were bitter shreds.

"Vivian," he murmured as they came to a stop at the end of the alley they had been traveling down. A slime covered wall rose in front of them and was all that separated them from the last street before the wall that surrounded the palace. "Vivian," he said again as she ignored him. "We need to speak now." He grabbed her arm and pulled her against the wall and met her gaze with his own. Her face was bloody and weary but there was also a spark of adrenalin in her eyes which seemed to be all she was running on. It was a face pale with exhaustion and, he to, was so weary that it took all of his determination to keep his senses operating on the level they needed to be at if they were to escape detection.

His voice was level, quiet and carried all the authority of someone who knows of what they speak. It carried weight and power that she could not escape nor could she deny the truth of those words despite the way they cut her. "Perhaps you are the sort who would sacrifice yourself on the alter of principle, but I doubt it. Most of us do things for reasons that are more purely personal. For love, or for hate. Or for revenge." Where had those words come from? Why did he speak them to her now? He did not know anymore - he did not care - he just wanted this to be over. The words were spilling out of him and he could not stop them. He could not stop time and he could not stop fate and turn it to another curse.

He was helpless.

Vivian met his gaze. "You are right," she whispered softly. "You can read people so easily Murtagh," her gaze was defeated. There was no hope in her green irises, no light and she looked old. So old and so weary. "You always knew what to do and why it had to be done."

"No," he said, "I really don't know anything." The young man spread his hands out in front of him in a gesture of defeat - of hopeless admittance that fate was stronger and a once unbreakable will had been shattered. "I don't know why any of this is happening nor why you and I are sitting here like this. I don't know why you did all of this or why you choose to help me. I can't know." He fell silent and met her eyes and the silence lengthened as neither said anything.

"I hope she knows how lucky she is," said Vivian with a bitter smile. "How lucky to have you." Her words did not carry any sting or acid but rather a terrible sadness and defeat. There was something chilling, so horrifyingly cold and desperate, about not caring. About just not caring.

He stared at her and then suddenly He realized what she meant. "I," he opened his mouth to continue but she cut across him.

Her eyes glittered with deep pain, with resignation and he suddenly realized he would rather face an army then see someone come to the very end of their strength. Vivian was done, her fire quenched and her heart broken as she sat there, in front of him, in a dark alley. Worse it was partly his fault. It was the fault of fate, of love, of a King and choices they had both made without knowing where those choices would lead them.

"I hope she realizes it," continued the young woman. She grabbed his hands and held them tightly in her own, slim but filthy hands. The blood from the wound on her arm trailed down and wound through their fingers like red ribbon binding them together but also separating them. "This must end," she whispered softly. "I must end."

"No," he whispered. "No. There is a way. I am sure." He knew what she intended to do - what she intended to ask him to do and he would not face it. He could not bear to do it and so he gripped her hands tightly and refused to let go even as she tried to remove them.

"Yes," she said, "I will do this one last thing. I will do it for you."

"No," he whispered for he suddenly realized that he did not want to lose her. He loved her like a sister - a dear friend - and he could bear to lose her like this. Who knew that love could cut so? Yet, like so many times before, he had to let her go. He had never known how much he loved her until he had to let her go.

"You cannot have everything," said Vivian with a bitter smile. "You cannot have me and your freedom. You cannot of me and her. You cannot have me and the Varden. Besides, I want to be free. I want this cruel joke of a life to end. I am a coward but I won't lie. I won't go to death lying, I've done it enough."

"I..." his mind was moving quickly from option to option but, before he could speak, she cut him off.

"He will know. He always knows and so I must die. If I die than the Varden will be safe for a little while longer. You will be safe. I will have what I always wanted: freedom. Do you know something? They sent me here because I am such a good liar but I can't do it anymore." Her gaze unguarded and her words steady even as she spoke, so softly he had lean forward a little to catch them. "What is her name?"

The question caught him off guard and he fought to speak past the lump in his throat. "Zoe," he whispered, "her name is Zoe."

A smile, a small tragic smile, drifted across Vivian's face. "Zoe," she said the name, "who is she?"

It seemed so strange to be speaking of such things here and with this young woman but he answered and it warmed his heart a little to speak of the girl who was rarely out is his thoughts. "She is strong. She is her own person and," his voice caught, "she cannot stay here. Her fate is not with me."

Vivian shook her head, "Fight for her - do not let your choices be dictated by something you do not know. For my sake," her smile turned shaky and her green eyes were bright with unshed tears, "for my sake live well. Experience all that this world has to offer - for her, for me and for you." He had never seen her before now and it seemed tragic that only now did he see her as she really was. Brave and beautiful she was but lonely and desperate for something that had always been just out of reach. One moment flying green through sunlight and then next gone. Out, out brief candle.

"It isn't fair," whispered Murtagh. "Why this? Why us?"

Vivian just smiled and he knew she had no answer and neither did he. Only Zoe had some answers but she did not know the answer to this one. There were no answers and, in the end, they were nothing more than dust and shadows across the pages of history. Shadows that would flicker and go out - not even remembered. Sacrifices made on dark streets and in isolated rooms that would never be spoken of. Things done by people who no one cared about and, if they did care, it was a fleeting thing.

"Goodbye," said the young woman and she squeezed his hands tightly. She leaned forward and went to kiss him on the cheek but he did not let her. Maybe he wished to know what they could have had or maybe he sensed that it was better to give her something to remember him by and this did not seem much to him. Maybe. Who knows in the end?

Letting go of her hands he gently gripped her face and kissed her. It was a desperate kiss. A kiss in which her tears ended up on his face and the taste was of metallic blood, salt and metal. It did not last long - they did not have long - but it was a kiss. It was a kiss full of longing; a kiss that tested the waters but knew it was merely a fleeting thing and never could be repeated. It was a bitter kiss and yet it was warm and full of the friendship and hope that had kept them both alive in the cage that they had lived in.

"Goodbye," whispered Murtagh as he drew back.

She slipped her hand to his belt and drew the knife; a long knife with a simple hilt and a deadly blade. His knife - a thing left over from his life in Uru'baen. Galbatorix would recognize it and put two and two together to equal that it had been him to kill her. He would not know the true reasons but that did not matter because the King could not understand such things - such reasons. It had killed men that day and its blade bore traces of rusty blood. He would not carry it again.

"Go," said Vivian. "Do not stay for this." He went to protest, to say that he would not leave now after all of this but she stopped him. "Don't disobey me on this Murtagh. Go. Now." she bit her lower lip and said softly, "Remember me not like this but as I once was. This is not a bad thing Murtagh - it is a chance for me to be free."

Maybe she was trying to make him understand, but she did not need to. He already did and, had he been her, he would have done the same thing and, maybe, he would have to sometime in the future. The world was cold and too much had been given. The chance to be free of it all, the relief that would offer, was too tempting and, if that came and one could save more than yourself, it was an easy choice. Vivian could save the Varden, she could save him and she could be free.

How he hated it!

"I will never forget you," he said in Ancient Language. It was a promise to stand against the current of time - a promise that would haunt him until he too found death. He would never forget the rank smell, the damp air and the blood that stained his hands no matter how much time and distance was put between him and that moment, that choice that ended all other choices. His voice caught as he spoke the next words but he forcibly steadied them as if he would not do her the dishonor of breaking now. "I shall make sure you are placed somewhere free." She smiled but there was no more words - in any language - that could be said between them now.

So he turned away. So he left the alley and did not look back. He would always wonder if he had stayed if she would have...have done what she did. if they could have found another solution - if Brom or Arya or someone, anyone, could have found another solution to a situation that, he knew in his heart, had only one answer. Someone - whether it was he or Vivian - had to go.

There could not be two of them.

Galbatroix had made it impossible to escape his cage and he had, unknowingly, left just one small loophole. a loophole that he and left open because Vivian was a spy and supposed to kill herself rather than be captured and give up secrets that were others to tell. It was that little loophole, a loophole that ended with a cliff into nothing, which would save them now. If dying could save anything.

Murtagh walked determinedly forward. He felt numb. He was lost and yet he was not stopping. He was moving as if he was thinking, as if this was all part of the plan. As if he actually knew what he was doing and not as if he was just a young man who had seen too much and had no home to run to.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Revised 26/2014**_


	54. Chapter 55

It had been during a debate - a fierce debate to - that everything changed.

Brom's face was fixed in a scowl and Nasuada was trying to resist the urge to snap as the discussion of rations turned into an argument about mobilizing the Varden's troops and preparing for open combat. It was fueled by her recent brush with death after a failed assassination attempt that afternoon. Brom had then disappeared - where she did not yet know - only to return in a strangely anxious mood he refused to explain. Their argument was ended, quite abruptly, by a surprise visitor who appeared in a completely unorthodox fashion from behind an ornate tapestry that covered one wall of the study.

Throwing the corner of the tapestry aside emerged Murtagh.

It was the strangest time to muse on such things, but the shock of his arrival had that effect on Nasauda as she found herself gazing at him in shock. She had liked him the first time she had met him and might have had more serious feelings had it not been perfectly clear that he was entirely in love with Zoe. His eyes followed her where she went, and his voice changed when he spoke to her. Nasuada's old nurse maid had once said in amusement that boys in love looked at their girl as if they were "the only star in the sky" and that was the way Murtagh looked at Zoe. Even if Zoe seemed rather oblivious to it or maybe she was just unwilling to admit that friendship had progressed to something deeper. Not that Nasuada resented it at all. Zoe was beautiful with clear, startling eyes and gleaming dark hair. Besides, Nasuada did not want a romance and she could think of no two people better suited for each other. In fact, if she did consider a romance, it would have to be to someone who would strategically benefit the Varden. It was the unfortunate truth and Nasuada was more than willing to face it.

If anything she found him confusing. So hopelessly confusing. When he was amused the emotion never seemed to pass beyond the surface of his face, as if he found the world both infinitely funny and tragic all at the same time. As if the darkness of the world was something to be laughed at, it was a quality she had never seen before and she wondered what had made him that way. She knew nothing of his parentage - only that he had been raised in Uru'baen and spent his life as a ward of the King. How or why she had never felt was her place to ask.

Now, however, his hair was sticky with blood and his hands coated in it to. In fact, he was speckled in it and Nasuada thanked whoever had allowed for the secret passages within the castle's wall that allowed Murtagh to move unseen to her study from the streets outside the castle's walls. Brom put his hand up and raised the young man's face, his hand cupping Murtagh's chin and turning it toward him. Murtagh was taller, but the look of someone wishing to pass a burden off was clear in his face – it was simple relief that Brom was there.

"Brom," he said quietly. His voice shook with a strange emotion and Nasuada had the feeling that he was on the verge of shattering though why or how was a mystery. "Brom. It is done."

"How?" asked the old man.

"Does it matter?" asked Murtagh quietly. "It is done."

Brom said nothing for a long moment. "Very well," he said quietly. "Can you tell us anymore?"

Standing from her chair and moving around the desk, Nasuada said, "What is happening?" Murtagh met her gaze, his eyes dark and she half-wondered if she should have asked the question.

Murtagh looked back to Brom and said quietly, "The Varden is safe for now. Leaderless and scattered they cannot attack us now." Then, in the same very even tone, "The Varden needs to move. The Empire is amassing an army."

Knowing she had – yet hating it to – Nasuada stepped forward and spoke, "Orrin must hear this. We need to prepare now." Her voice echoed slightly in the high ceilinged study where, just a few hours ago, she had nearly been killed by a poison dart. It had only been Brom's wards that had saved her.

Murtagh just nodded. Brom moved hurriedly to the door and Nasuada sank back into the chair she had leapt up from when Murtagh had burst into the room. The young man looked around and then settled for leaning against the window frame, looking as if he was two seconds away from collapsing from exhaustion. She wanted to question him more and find out what had happened to him but she held her tongue. He needed these quiet moments before Orrin arrived with cavalcade of questions all directed at him. Besides Nasuada's mind was wording with just the brief words Murtagh had spoken, suddenly she felt as if everything was speeding up out of control and she was struggling to keep herself together.

The Empire was moving to attack them? How had this escaped them? What kind of power did it take to create illusions of men in barracks while, in reality, those men were preparing for war? The questions buzzed around in her head, unanswerable and yet urgent to.

The door suddenly opened, with Brom entering first and then the King of Surda. Murtagh looked at the new arrivals before once more turning his gaze to some distant point on the opposite wall. His face was impassive and yet the young leader could see the subtle signs of tension around his mouth and eyes. She doubted he would be able to stand the King of Surda for long, it would be up to Nasauda to keep this meeting brief and to the point if only for Murtagh's sake.

"What is happening?" demanded the King as he swept his elegant robes around himself so as to sit on one of the empty chairs without wrinkling them. The King of Surda had a kind face and, despite all the strain of these past few months, he had retained a little of his inherent nature to believe and trust. In another time, a less violent one, he would have been an easy King to respect but now Nasuada found herself longing for a more ruthless ruler.

"The Empire is amassing an army," said Murtagh. His voice rang hollowly in the chamber and his arms, folded across his chest, made him look almost defiant. "A host of men is being gathered. When they are ready the Empire will march south. The number of men will be close to a hundred thousand." He continued, his words level as he shared details regarding the placement of troops, supplies and even some of the commanders who would be leading this mighty army. Now he just waited, like a soldier might for a command.

Nasauda looked on impassive, the woman watching as the muscles tightened in the King's jaw and he straightened almost imperceptibly. Practice kept Nasuada's face expressionless despite the cold knot of fear that grew inside of her. Here was the thing she'd been expecting, the news that she had been waiting for. The news of war and the news that they needed to act now. Brom, sitting in a chair by an open window, did not bother looking around. His shoulders were tense and his face looked even older than usual.

"The black foe approaches," murmured Orrin. "Galbortix has finally abounded his lair in favor of open combat."

"A hundred thousand men," murmured Nasauda. "We need allies. We need Eragon. Without aid from the dwarves and elves we do not have a hope of survival." The grim truth of her statement settled on them all like a heavy black cloak.

Orrin, his voice hushed, sighed heavily and asked Murtagh with the air of a condemned man asking how long he had to live. "Can you find the person who gave you this information again?"

Murtagh shrugged, his face impassive, "They are dead." His voice stumbled a little, "The dead cannot speak."

Orrin rose, his formal robes rustling as he did so. "We need to move." That he would rather do anything but move was clear to the young woman who was his equal in this matter. Yet, to his credit, the King did not flinch nor hesitate in his following words, "I will summon a council of war. Plans must be set in motion and missives sent to the elves and dwarves." He turned and looked at Murtagh, a strange look of respect and curiosity on his face as I he was not sure what to make of the young man who stood so still by the window in blood splattered clothes. "Thank you Murtagh of the Varden," the words were formal and yet there was a note of sincere gratitude in them that Nasuada found surprising. "If there any boon you would have me I would give it to you."

Murtagh shook his head, "I would have nothing that you could give me. It is my duty to help protect the Varden and its allies. That was what I did today." His words were equally formal and yet also accepting, silently thanking the King and yet also politely declining the generous offer. The King sent him another strangely admiring but also curious gaze before turning to look at Nasuada, his eyes deadly serious as he waited for her response.

"Yes," said Nasuada. "We have prepared for this and now all that remains is for us to set things in action."

The King nodded once more and then departed with Brom following close behind him. The older man sent Murtagh a swift look that the leader of the Varden was certain contained words spoken mind to mind. Murtagh did not say anything but gave the man a brief nod. Things were happening so fast, thought Nasuada as she watched Brom disappear and shut the door. She needed to compose missives and alert…for a second she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the tasks that awaited her before she ruthlessly pushed it aside.

Looking at Murtagh she gestured at an empty chair before her desk, "Come and sit for a minute Murtagh."

The young man sent her a wary look and then slowly, as if he was wounded, he moved forward and sank into the plush chair across from Nasuada. The setting sun sent in its red and gold rays through the tall windows and made dust motes dance. The room was simple - not ornate like Farthen Dur - but she liked it. It was a room meant for a leader of an army and that was she really was. Nasuada folded her hands in front of her as she collected the words she wished to say.

"The Black Hand have been dealt a grievous blow with the deaths and capture of so many of their leaders. We have crucial information about the movement of Galbatorix's troops. Yet," she paused and gazed at him steadily, "you do not seem excited by any of this nor by offers of reward."

Murtagh met her gaze with his own guarded one. His eyes hard and impregnable, it was impossible for the young leader to know what he was thinking or to even say she knew anything about this deadly weapon who had stepped into the games of power. When he spoke his words were low, "I lost a friend this day Nasauda. It is that loss that weighs heavily upon me." His words were cool and the woman slid back in her chair as if they had physically pushed her away.

"Do you wish to explain?"

"No," he said quietly and then he rose from his chair. "Are you done with me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said knowing, as she spoke, that nothing she did or said would make him speak of these matters anymore. Nor would she force him to - he was too important to force such things from and she could sympathize.

He rose and turned to leave only to pause beside the chair with his back to her. He turned his face to her so she saw his harsh profile and said, "I will be unable to attend the council tomorrow morning. I hope this does not disrupt anything."

Nasuada was silent; stunned that he would apologize for missing a meeting that he was not really required at especially after losing, as he had just told her, a friend. He seemed so weary to her, finished and done with everything that she was unable to think of a way to phrase her words so they achieved maximum comfort and reassurance. "Of course," she managed to say gently. "I understand."

"Thank you," and he turned a little more and she saw, for the first time, vulnerability in his dark eyes. He looked young very suddenly and very unsure of the world. She knew how he felt. It was a feeling that she, alone as leader of this little army, often felt and it made her doubt the choices made and the words she spoke. A sense of kinship - of mutual understanding - flared within her. How well she knew failure and the fear of more! How well she knew what it meant to live with guilt and, she had come to know, that in this world no one could live blameless nor could she falter. Both of them she realized, her and Murtagh, covered up that vulnerability and doubt with ruthless force and strove to overcome it through decisive actions.

"No," said Nasuada and she allowed him to see her own weakness and the uncertainty that lay hidden beneath her mask. "Thank you."

She saw recognition and understanding pass over his face. He saw her, briefly, as she was: a young woman struggling to do what men and elves had failed to. What heroes and leaders of incredible power had failed after a century of effort to accomplish. Murtagh said nothing, for nothing needed to be said, and he turned away to walk out of the private council room. He shut the door with a quiet click.

She was alone.

Nasuada rose and walked to the windows that were the only source of light or fresh air in the stuffy room. She looked beyond the city and towards the direction of the Empire. Troops were on the move and so was the Varden. Captains, even now, were carrying out the orders she had passed down to them and men were preparing themselves for another battle. Supplies were being organized and missives would be sent to the dwarves and the elves with the news and their plans as the Varden moved to engaged Galbortix's massive army.

It chilled her. The idea of what they were going to do was chilling.

She had never thought to take her father's place. She had thought to remain behind the scenes - one of the fighters - never the leader. It had never been in her mind's eye that she would be the one to ask those who fought for the cause she represented to die. The men of the Varden followed her and listened, for the most part, to the orders she gave and marched to war because she had decided it was time. It was her - no one else - who would shatter families, leave warriors maimed and fields soaked with blood.

She had been clever. Oh yes she had been clever. Solving the Varden's financial woes with magically created fine cream lace after accidentally setting her own lace on fire after a infuriating meeting with Orrin in his private laboratory. There was her carefully organizing of her council so that she could balance all the wants of advisors with the end goal of confronting the Empire. Yet cleverness did not mean anything now. Cleverness in the council room or in matters of finance would mean nothing now. It was how ruthless, how determined, how willing to sacrifice that would determine the winner of this game. Could she match that? Could she be like the heroes of old?

She did not know.

Nasuada wrapped her arms around herself as if to protect herself from such thoughts. They haunted her these days - cold reminders and doubts that made her want to run far, far away to a place she would never have to leave. Outside the stars glinted coldly high above and the city was spread out below - quiet as if the world had stopped spinning. As if she, Nasuada, was the only living thing for miles and miles.

Whether she wanted to or not she would have to go. She would have to draw a sword and ask those she led to die. It would be her - Nasuada - who would go down in the history books. As a success story or a failure. It was too late now. She would either fall into darkness or rise like soaring arrow into success and memory.

* * *

><p>The forge of Runon seemed untouched by the magic of the Celebration. The place was exactly as I remembered and, as if she had never stepped away, the elf smith was bent back over the forge. She glanced up only when I came to a stop a few feet away from her, the old eyes glanced over me and a faint smile flickered across her face only to be swiftly replaced by the familiar frown she often wore.<p>

"You are leaving."

It was a statement not a question and the elf looked back to the piece of raw metal in her hands. It was still unformed and I could not even imagine what it might look like when the elf had finished with it. She had told me that the metal told her what it wanted to be and when it was finished. Some, she told me, liked to be simple with no adornment but others liked to flash in the sun with jewels or delicate carving. She made it sound as if the metal was actually alive and I could not help but wonder if it was to her. Maybe, like all great artists, her tools and creations spoke to her in a language that no one, least of all a young human girl, could ever hope to understand.

"Yes," I said simply. "I do, however, plan to return."

"You will have to be careful," she said and then raised her eyes to meet my face. Somehow I knew that she knew exactly what I was off to do. I have no idea how she found out, but from the way those eyes knowingly pierced me, I knew that Runon not only knew my purpose but why I was accepting this task. Maybe she knew even more than I did, the whole picture to her may be as clear and deep as a mountain lake. Perhaps she knew all the twists and turns in the long road that lay before me, only to tell me of it when I had reached the final destination. It would not surprise me if she did.

"You asked me to come here," I said as I took one small step closer.

"I did," she said. "Wait here."

Before I could say anything, she left the forge and disappeared into her small house. She was gone quite a long time, so long that I began to wonder what she was doing and what she might be giving me. What had I proved myself worthy of? Why would she give me anything when she had often complained that my presence was annoying and distracting?

Suddenly, just as I began to feel very uncomfortable standing so still outside, the smith reappeared. In her calloused, large hands there was a beautifully wrapped package. It looked so out of place in those hands, the soft grey cloth with a silvery tracery of embroidery around the edge was too delicate for those hands - too feminine. She held it out to me, silently and her face was as impassive as a stone wall. The air was very still, the smell of smoke and hot metal mixed with the heady perfume of the wildflowers that grew in abundance beneath the trees that surrounded the open clearing. A smell that I would never really forget.

I took the package gingerly in my hands, afraid that I might drop it or grip it too tightly and break whatever it might be. Slowly, like a child told not to ruin the wrapping paper, I drew away the cloth covering to reveal what lay inside it. My fingers stopping the second the cloth fell away to reveal what gift the smith had created for me.

It was a knife.

The silvery blade was straight, about the length of my forearm and it glimmered as it reflected the sunlight back towards me. I gasped at the sight of it, unable to fully grasp what had just been given to me by the ancient elf. It was as beautiful a blade as any created for the Rider's in ages past. The simple hilt wrapped with black leather and the provided sheath was plain black. The blade was very simple, but elegant and fine. As I examined it more closely, taking in the beautiful way it rested against the grey cloth, I saw an inscription on the blade: To whatever end.

Runon had made this for me - for no one else. A knife is different than a sword, it can be concealed much easier and, in the end, sometimes it is all you have left at your disposable. Arrows can be lost. Swords broken. Spears snapped and armor rent but knives stick with you until the bitterest of ends. They are sometimes all you have left. This was a knife, one so beautifully crafted that I had never seen the like. It was meant to be used. This was a blade that would stand up to the heat of battle and never falter. I found I had no words in which to say anything even as I raised my face to gaze, my eyes shimmering with unshed tears, to look at the elf. What could I say? Runon had given me much more than just this knife and it was impossible for me to sum up all my gratitude in words.

She rested one hand on my shoulder and said, "Go. When you come back I will be here." There was no doubt in her voice that I would come back. She believed in me - an elf who had seen civilizations rise and fall believed that I, a little mortal girl, could do this task.

I nodded and, the knife still in my hands, I said as strongly as I could right then. "I will," the words echoed through the clearing and the elf smith smiled then.

"Then go," she said and I did.

I did not know at that point that the knife she had created for me would see me through much more than just this war. The knife, crafted to last for centuries, would be a constant companion and it would, very soon, save my life. Sometimes, no matter where we go or how we get there, little bits of our past stick with us. This knife would be one of those things that never seemed to be lost no matter how treacherous the road or how long. Often, in later years, I would look back and wonder if Runon had poured some sort of magic or determination into that knife that made it so unbreakable and prevented it from being lost. Who knows in the end?

* * *

><p>"You intend to do what?" demanded Arya of me.<p>

The elf was standing in my room, watching me as I made sure that I was ready for my departure the next morning. I would have thought that she would have been busy packing and visiting friends in preparation for own departure. Yet, for her mother would have told her everything, she had sought me out and was now standing with her hands planted firmly on her hips and a scowl fixed firmly on her fair face. She sounded exactly like her mother right then and it made me sigh with frustration - one Islanzardi was quite enough.

"I have to," I said it firmly as I examined another arrow. Every single one had to be in perfect condition before I set out on this adventure and it gave me a reason not to meet the green eyes that snapped with the elf's fear and anger at my choice. An angry Arya was a sight to behold and not one I wanted to deal with then. I knew her anger stemmed from her fear, but I was already dealing with my own fear and did not have either the energy or the soothing words with which to banish not only my worries but hers.

"No you don't!" she said angrily. Then, pausing as if making up her mind in a way that made me glance at her nervously, she said firmly, "I will go with you."

"No!" I said whipping around to gaze at her as my attempt at being calm failed miserably. My mind filled with everything that could happen if she did come. That was one thing that could not happen. No. No. Only I could accomplish this and I did not want to argue with Arya for the next few hours. We both had better things to do and I could not stand to have another person doubt me when I was already so conflicted.

"You must go to the Varden and I must do this." I took a steadying breath and said gently, "Just as guarding Saphira's egg was your task this is mine." My words had the desired effect and the elf snapped her mouth shut as she gazed at me with suddenly stunned eyes. Pressing my advantage home, I continued, "Just as you had to go against the current so must I."

She sighed heavily and sat down hard, and most ungracefully, on the edge of my bed. "You will not go back on this?" she asked one last time but now her voice had a note of defeat in it. Her green eyes searched my face as if looking for some faint hope that she would be able to turn me from what, very might well be, a suicide mission.

"No," I said and left my quiver to sit down beside her. "I have to Arya," I looked down at my hands and said very quietly, "there are things that need to happen."

"I know," she murmured, "but I have never seen you make choices that will influence the future since Farthen Dur." She was silent for a long moment, "You will do everything to come back? You must come back Zoe." Her green eyes met mine and I saw genuine fear in those bright irises. It was not just fear that I would fail but fear that I would, a friend she cared for, have to endure what she had endured at Durza's hands. I saw these complex emotions and fears in those suddenly unguarded eyes and I wondered how I had come across such a friend as I found in Arya. I was a lucky girl.

"I will," I said it firmly and tried to inject all the certainty and confidence that, despite my best efforts, refused to stick around. I had to believe that I would because only then would I be able to step onto Glaedr and fly towards whatever might be waiting for me. The elf nodded and then, with a great intake of breath, gestured at my quiver.

"Let me help you with that."

I smiled. Friends like Arya, ones that recognize when to stop arguing and can see the reasons behind your choices, are too rare in any world. "Thank you," I said gratefully.

"What of Eragon?" asked the elf as she took an arrow from the pile and began to examine the point. "He should know of what you plan."

I sighed, my thoughts had been far from the Rider that day even though he, as Arya pointed out, had a right to know just as Saphira did. They would, unfortunately, not find out until after the deed was done or I did not return during a set amount of time. It was hardly ideal, but far easier for me not to have to explain everything again and argue my reasons for leaving. If it succeeded then I would deal with their worry and anger for not being told personally. If it failed then they would learn the reasons why I had risked it from Oromis.

"Oromis will tell them," I said quietly.

"Is that wise?"

"It is my only option right now." I placed an arrow back in the quiver, "I must leave now and return as soon as I can."

The elf sighed and twirled one arrow before handing it to me to place in the tooled leather quiver. "I could explain it to them tonight," she told me, "I intended to say farewell before I depart."

"Then they would run to see me and argue just as you have," I told her without glancing up. "I can only explain it so many times before I lose my mind Arya."

A faint smile twisted her lips only to fade quickly. "That would not do." Her words slightly teasing even though her eyes still glittered with worry and her face bore signs of the will power it took to keep her from continuing the previous argument. Passing me another arrow she said quietly, "I only hope for everyone's sake that this quest of yours is successful."

"We all hope that," I replied quietly and then forcibly forced myself to concentrate on my task and not the swirling doubts that lingered just beneath my fragile control.

That night - as I sank into an uneasy sleep around midnight - dreams once more came to me. Some I couldn't remember the following morning when I rose before dawn, but others I could and one was particularly bright and haunted my thoughts even as I prepared to leave the forest.

_A cool night breeze toyed with my unbound hair as I stood, dressed in a thick dressing gown with a pair of warm slip-on shoes, on the large balcony which opened onto my room. The world was covered in snow, the thick layer of white covering the world that lay before me. It was probably after midnight but the moon was high and its clear light made the snow shimmer in pale silvers and blues. The entire world was perfectly silent, so still that the only sound was the soft whisper of the wind. _

_I sighed, the world was peaceful this night and yet I was restless. My body unwilling to relax and sleep, it seemed to be telling me to do something - anything. The sight before me had an enchanting allure to it, the snow making everything seem quite and yet more beautiful than it was without the frosty covering. The wind seemed to be whispering secrets to me in a language I could not understand and I was lost in the music, in the sights before me. It felt right to listen even though the meaning was lost on me. The cold emptiness of the world at this particular moment was soothing and I felt as I was the only living thing in this winter wonderland. _

_I was so lost in the melody and the scene before me that I did not realize that someone had joined me until, to my surprise, they spoke. _

_"Why are you out here?" It was my mother, dressed as I was in a dressing gown of pale rose that was edged with silver. Her dark hair braided back and her grey eyes looking at me with motherly concern that made me feel extremely young. Even without a circlet marking her rank or an elegant dress she still seemed royal and just as beautiful as the cold snow around us. "It is cold." _

_"I know," I said not quite sure how to react to this unexpected visitor. By way of explanation I continued, "I could not sleep." _

_"Come inside," she said with a faint smile of understanding. "I could not sleep either." _

_She rested a hand on my shoulder and drew me back inside through the open glass doors framed by pale cream curtains that swayed slightly as we past them, casting pearl white reflections on the polished marble floor. In the fireplace on one side of the room a small blaze still smoldered and helped warm the spacious chamber. My mother led me towards the large bed with its soft sheets and deep pillows that had been cast aside by me earlier in favor of the cold winter air on my balcony. We sat down on the bed, my mother's arm wrapped around me and she pulled me close until my head was resting on her shoulder. Drawing me feet up I curled up on the bed feeling like a very small child. _

_"Why could you not sleep?" she asked gently and, in the warmth of my rooms with my mother's soothing presence beside me it was easier to remember the nightmare that had driven me from my bed to the cold outside. Raising my face I looked up into my mother's eyes and wondered why she had come here so late at night. For what reason had she been unable to sleep? _

_I sighed, "It was a nightmare. It is gone now." _

_My mother stroked my hair with one hand and asked softly, "What happened?" _

_I closed my eyes and shivered as I remembered the icy cold, the despair, of the nightmare that had disrupted my rest that night. "I was alone," I whispered it, "and I knew I had failed. I was alone and I had failed." I could not stop the tears as I remembered the anguish that had filled me, the pain of knowing that I had to do something only to do it and find that I had ruined everything. _

_"Shush..." murmured my mother in my ear. Then quietly in her musical voice she began to sing. It was a child's lullaby and it was like a soothing balm to the wound the nightmare had inflicted upon me. Slowly, almost reluctantly, I felt my eyelids slipping shut. Exhaustion making my bones liquid; I felt like I might wash away and vanish. The song echoing on around me like a warm blanket…_

* * *

><p>It was still dark when I arrived at the small cottage that Oromis called his home. The elf was already waiting for me at the small table inside. Glaedr stretched out in his familiar place just beside the door. His saddle was already upon his back and he blinked in greeting as I came to a stop beside his large gold head.<p>

Oromis rose from his chair as I stepped inside the small door and into the warm cottage that he had created for himself. The elf looked better - stronger and steadier then he had the previous day. His golden sword was belted to his waist and it was in sharp contrast to the simple dark tunic he wore. "Are you ready?" asked the elf without preamble.

"Yes," I said quietly and he took both my hands in his own slim, warm ones.

"It is time to leave," said Oromis and I felt my nerves give another twinge that I tried my best to ignore. The sun had yet to peak over the horizon and the stars still glimmered above us like lanterns against the endless black of the sky. Any other time, under any other set of circumstances, I might have been excited to be riding upon Glaedr among the stars with a Rider of Old. Now I could only see what awaited me at the end of this flight and it felt so final to climb up and settle myself behind Oromis. What would happen now? Would I ever see this place again?

The flight was surprisingly short. Glaedr flew swiftly over the dark forest and then, just as the sun began to send its rays across the lightening sky, he began to angle downwards. We were deep in the forest and I was hopelessly confused as to which direction Ellesmera might be. Everything looked the same to my eyes, an endless carpet of dark trees broken only by open spaces that seemed to grow rarer the farther we travelled as if the forest was becoming denser.

The golden dragon spread his wings and we began to dive toward the ground. We dropped through the thick canopy of trees, breaking branches as we went, and finally settled upon the forest floor with a small explosion of dirt and a large thud. Glaedr settled his wings and then I slipped off along with Oromis.

_Thank you, _I murmured to Glaedr. The dragon just hummed slightly in response and then we moved forward. Oromis walking assuredly through the dark tree trunks. My hand slipped unconsciously to the hilt of my sword as we came to a stop on the edge of a small open clearing.

There it was.

It was made of grey stone, nothing special, with no carvings or any decoration upon it. It was about ten feet tall, a perfect arch in the middle of a green clearing surrounded by wild flowers. This part of the forest felt different, almost disconnected from the rest of Du Weldenvarden. The feeling only grew the closer I came to it until, when I stood about three feet from it, it became almost overwhelmingly strong. Behind me, silent and watchful, was Glaedr and Oromis.

"What do you make of it?" I asked them.

_I do not like it,_ he said, _it makes my scales itch. Be careful Zoe, there is a reason few come to this place. It is better left alone. _He shifted uneasily and I glanced back to see that his entire body was tensed as if to pounce. Oromis looked deadly serious and his face was focused upon the arch as if waiting for something, anything, to happen. My nerves tingled and it took all my will power to send my fear back to the shadows, I did not need it now. How did I make this things work? No 'open sesame' button on this thing. I looked at the runes carved into the stone, they were clear and, had I known the language they were written in, I would have had no problem reading them.

Oromis spoke quietly, "I have not come here since before the Fall. Yet it is unchanged. Some strange magic is here and it is strong to defy the magic that is already woven into this forest." The elf moved until he stood beside me and I felt grateful for his quiet presence just as I was grateful for Glaedr. I would not have wanted to come here alone.

A power flickered through the clearing, briefly appearing and then vanishing. I knew that power, had sensed it only twice before. Once had been as I woke from a dream and the other had been only a few days ago as a dragon, created through magic and memory, turned it's ancient eyes on me. Glaedr growled. The power flared again and flowed around the edges of the clearing. I stood very still and allowed that strange power to grow and come closer until it hummed around me, mixing with the power that already lay heavy on the air. It felt as if everything might explode from it all - as if the very atoms of the universe were being charged and ripped apart by this strange energy.

_You have come, _the words echoed through my mind and I saw that Oromis had also heard them as had Glaedr.

_Yes, _I answered as firmly as I could. An image suddenly passed through my mind - an image from that strange power…

_I saw myself walking up to the arch and taking a small black stone, my stone, from my pocket. I saw that stone light up and I saw the way the light spread and then I watched as it mixed with my own power. The light spread across the stone arch and ignited it - the runes flaring as it was surrounded by the magic of the stone and the power that was my own. The air between the arch began to shimmer and then I stepped into that shimmering air only to vanish…_

The image was gone.

Oromis was looking at me and I saw that he too must have seen what I saw. The voice came again and this time it seemed to be many voices speaking together and there was something about it, something familiar and strong that made me trust it. It was not evil nor did it want to control me. It wanted to work together to accomplish something - I had no choice but to trust it.

_We will guide your journey. _

"I suppose I must go," I looked between the Rider and the dragon.

Oromis nodded and said, "We will wait for you."

_Yes, _said Glaedr. _You will need our help to leave here I think. _

I felt tears threaten as I looked between them, but before I could speak Oromis gently rested a hand on my shoulder. "Go," he said kindly and I saw that he too was frightened though he did his best to hide it. "Go. Then you can come back."

I nodded and, squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward until I stood directly in front of the arch. The power was so intense here that I had to bring up my defenses just so I could think clearly. Then with slow deliberateness I drew the small black stone from my pocket. It was warm and comforting. Who knew that it would be my key to this arch? Was that why that woman in Farthen Dur had given it to me? I felt as if each moment in this journey had been watched and commented on - maybe even preplanned - by some foreign power. Was it the power of that voice or was there more to it? I forced the questions away, I had to concentrate now.

It didn't take very much focus at all to make my small stone start to shine and, just like in the image, the light grew and grew until it bathed the stone with the light of a fallen star. Power coursed white hot through my veins and then the air began to shimmer like a heat mirage. It was time. I took one more deep breath and then stepped forward straight into that shimmering bright air.

There was no sensation of movement.

There was nothing.

The only fixed point in the emptiness was the warm stone in my hand.

Until...

Wham!

I slammed into dirt and felt all the air get knocked from my lungs as I lay, panting, on solid ground. Slowly, my body aching after this impact with the ground, I was able to push myself up and examine where I had been spat out. I was lying on top of what had probably been a very carefully tended flower garden a few years ago. Now the flowers had gone wild and there was no order to the way they grew. Ornamental trees were no longer pruned into specific shapes and the stone border along the bed was overgrown with greenery. This particular bed was circular in shape and there was a stone fountain in the center that was surrounded by cobblestones. The sky was iron grey and a chill breeze stirred the plants like a warning. The air was thick with tension and foreboding. A cobblestone path led out of the small circular garden and straight towards...

There it was. Morzan's manor house.

I had arrived.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Revised 26/2014_**

**_Enjoy!_**


	55. Chapter 56

Sensation returned.

Slowly and painfully for, after the blank emptiness of the portal, everything from the smallest rustlings to the glittering light reflected off the polished hilt of my sword was agonizing. For a few minutes I just had to stay still and breath as my body slowly began to feel normal. I do not, for the record, recommend portal hopping if it can be avoided.

When my vision cleared and I was able to move once more, I slipped the black stone (looking completely ordinary) back into my pocket and I double checked that the various weapons hidden in my clothing were where they should be. The presence that had guided me through the arch returned then, the voices speaking in that strangely precise way. It sounded like only one voice melded together in a strange whispering sound but, if you concentrated on it, you could pick out multiple voices. I hoped it could get me back. I did not know if there was anyway to get back to Du Weldenvarden using that portal or if I was going to have to make other arrangements. I had no horse and no dragon - just myself.

I was alone.

_You must walk around to the front door. Certain wards will be triggered if you attempt to enter through any other entrance._

The voice, I suppose I should say plural for there was more than one, sounded almost excited. The enthusiasm was not contagious and my own excitement was long gone.

_In a minute_, I snapped back.

I had discussed this part of the plan with Oromis and he had agreed that it was a good idea just in case. Drawing my own magic up I crafted a disguise that changed my dark hair to a dirty blonde and my eyes to a dull blue. My nose became a little too large and my skin grew a few shades darker. If there was anyone looking in on this place they would not get my face - my true face – and remember it. Hopefully this disguise would survive whatever wards meant to strip magic from an intruder that had to be layered around these quiet gardens and even quieter house.

Only then did I start to move.

The gardens were silent. Only the occasional song bird flitting from branch to branch or squirrel chattering in a tree could be heard. The lay out of the gardens was elaborate and, yet, they reminded me of the gardens one would see hidden behind the thorny wall of Sleeping Beauty's castle. They were wild and mysterious, but there was something dark to them. There was a brooding threat in the shadow of that house that made chills race down my spine. The dark windows reflected the grey light and, on some, shutters and been drawn tightly closed. It was the sight of that lonely place that made gardens I might have enjoyed into a place I merely hurried through.

Everything seemed to waiting breathlessly for something but what I could not guess. It did not surprise me that the place had been avoided by all who lived close to it and, no doubt, stories were passed down from one generation to the next of the man who had once lived there. Close by me - just there yet not close enough for me to feel clearly - was that strange presence that had guided me so far.

It was here - in these haunted gardens - that Brom and first met Selena. I wondered where it had been and how that encounter had occurred. How had a warrior in disguise first meet the dangerous consort of Morzan? Had he been carefully pruning a rose bush? Or had he been day dreaming about the completion of this mission and she told him off for dawdling about his task? Or maybe he saw her constantly: out with her young son, waiting Morzan on the front steps of the grand house or leaving the place in an elegant dress for some Court party. Had she then, for some strange reason, looked his way or said something that suddenly made him look at her with new eyes? Had it just taken a brief second, a second when he looked beyond his task or the mask she wore, to see what lay beneath?

I would never know.

My footsteps were muffled as I moved swiftly down the paths and around to the front of the house. The landscape was misty and, as I came to the gravel road that led towards the giant entrance doors, I could just make out a set of closed elaborate iron gates. Dragons, their maws open as if ready fight, decorated them and great stone pillars supported it. In my wild portal tumble, I had slipped inside the wall of this place and, maybe, had avoided many of the trigger points meant to stop intruders. My feet crunched on the small white gravel stones that were now mixed with weeds and grass. The road circled in front of the house and around an elegant fountain of stampeding horses. I noticed another carefully disguised gravel path leading behind the house - perhaps to a stable. I could almost imagine the opulent carriages with glossy coated horses drawing up in front of this house for a party as their beautifully dressed occupants moved up the wide stairs and through those tall double doors. For a moment I could see a graceful dark haired woman waiting to greet them at the top of those steps with a dark man standing beside her.

Now, however, the windows gleamed dully and ivy crept up the sides unrestrained. I shivered slightly at the sight of it and wished with all my heart that I could just turn away from this place. Who knew what might be waiting for me in there? What had Islanzardi said about traps and magical watchers?

Setting my jaw I forced myself to walk forward and up the gravel road and towards the weatherworn, but wide front steps. Would I regret this? The logical, determined part of me reminded that inner part of me that was cowering that, as I knew well enough, regret was a pointless emotion. I had to do this, I had come to far now. Anything could happen, but sometimes we worry too much about things that will never happen.

Two gigantic but empty flower pots stood at each corner of the steps and the door loomed before me. It was an impressive door. Thick and heavy it looked like it could withstand even dragon fire. Two iron door handles were there, looking small and strange against the vast expanse of it.

The voice echoed again: _The doors are sealed by a spell designed to keep out those who mean harm to the family of Morzan. You must circumvent it._

I looked at those doors and considered the question. Did I mean any harm to the family of Morzan? I had never met either Selena or Morzan so it was impossible for me to mean them any harm. That left Murtagh. I think you know how I feel on that score. Reaching out with one gloved hand I placed it on the smooth iron door. Before I pushed down I spoke clearly in the tongue of power and truth: "I come in friendship and with my love for Murtagh son of Morzan."

My words seemed to echo on and on in the still air. A bell note that was never ending.

For a second panic rose in me - should I have spoken out loud? Who knows what might have heard me? Had I even said the right thing? Worse - saying 'my love' was the truth. I did love Murtagh, but that didn't mean I was quite ready to accept just how much I actually did or that that love was anything different then sisterly feelings. Forcing the panic and pointless questions away, I pressed down on the handle. A sudden bolt of power went through me. The cold air crackled and a shadow flickered across the world for a brief moment. A sour taste filled my mouth and then, with a crack, it seemed as if an invisible stone wall crumbled to dust. The shock of it sent me back a few steps but I steadied my nerves.

Something had just happened, some strange bit of magic that I did not want to think about too much.

I could not stop myself, as I prepared to open the door, to mutter a perfunctory prayer to whatever power watched over me. It was a superstition ingrained in me by the superstitious soldiers I had sent years beside. Send a prayer up as you start a task, send up a prayer when you finish it, and if you are really superstitious, then leave a gift once a month on an alter of your choosing. Some think that they have survived too much or received too much and that, at any moment, their luck will run out and they will be faced with disaster. Sometimes I am inclined to agree with them, but not this day.

_You could have warned me_, I snapped at the presence.

It did not respond and so I continued. The doors swung open a little when I pushed against them and I slipped inside, leaving only a small gap. The doors squeaked slightly as they were turned on their rusting hinges and, yet, as I forced them shut I half wished I could just go back outside. That I could go back to the iron grey sky and the haunted but wild garden with its memories and ghosts.

As my eyes became adjusted to the darkened entrance hall I found that the floor was marble and coated in at least an inch of dust. The ceiling rose high above me and skylights let in a little light that illuminated a grand curving staircase that led upstairs. Hallways branched off and a pair of large, open doors before me showed what had to be the ballroom. Torches lined the sides of the stone walls and elaborate, dusty tapestries were too shadowed for me to see properly. Apart from the spiders spinning their webs across the crystal chandeliers, I seemed to be the only living thing in this echoing house. Who had been the last person here? Gabatorix?

I drew out my stone and let a little of the light illuminate the floor before me as I crossed the vast entrance hall and moved down what seemed to be the largest hallway. Many of the doors along the corridor that I had chosen were closed. I kept wondering if something was going to leap out at me or if there was something following me and ducking behind a tapestry anytime I looked back. I tried to dismiss those fears as foolish and concentrate on my task, but they slipped in and made me move quickly and as silently as I could. I didn't believe in ghosts or ghouls, but they were easier to believe in when standing in a cold, dark house set with too many wards and traps to count.

As I walked down the richly carpeted corridor, I wondered what a young Selena had made of her new home. This was a richly furnished house that would have come with a small fleet of servants and the title of lady to the King's favorite servant. Her eyes must have been wide when she entered this place. Surely she must have doubted her choice to follow the dashing man who had swept her up and carried her away like a shining knight in a story. The duties of a noble woman would have settled on the shoulders of a girl raised to care for a farm. How steep had her learning curve been? She would have had to master the household accounts, made sure her wardrobe was suitable for the parties she had to organize and preside over. Added to that was the violent husband who turned her into a competent and skilled assassin. Whatever one said about her - good or bad - she had to have been remarkable. What she accomplished – what she chose to do – were not easy things or choices many would have made or seen through. She felt so close, the memory of her haunting these halls and watching me as I walked through them.

I wondered what she would have thought of me.

Finally, after passing at least ten doors, I came to one that was open. It was a dining room – a hall that must have been used for formal dinners. I could not resist poking my head in and then, when it became apparent that the room was as deserted as the rest of the house, I stepped inside. The room was dark, it was hard to make out the corners and the air was heavy with dust and forgotten memories. I was about to leave – to continue my search – when the entire room was changed.

A brief flash of sunshine flared through it as the clouds outside broke for a few seconds. Slanting sunbeams ran golden on dusty wood panels and bounced off the tarnished full suit of armor in the corner and picking out spots of color. One wall was entirely covered with masks and helmets, their empty eye sockets looking down over the room and the first person to enter it in what had to be years. The masks surrounded a painting by some artist that depicted a stern looking, black haired man that could have been Morzan or maybe his father. I did not know. The center of the room was dominated by a huge scarred table. Eighteen high-backed chairs were arranged around the time-stained table which had to have at least an inch of dust on top of it. Dust iced the curtains that still fell in elegant folds around the tall windows with their carved frames.

For a second I allowed myself to admire the scene and imagine, for a few brief seconds, that I was a guest being invited into dinner. Had a young Murtagh ever played underneath that table? I could almost see him ducking through chair legs and standing inside the gigantic fireplace that took up one side. The image sliding away like water in my hands as the sunlight faded and the room darkened once more.

I turned away and left the way I had come. I needed to find the egg, but where it was in this echoing mansion was beyond me. The presence had yet to tell me anything about it and ignored my questions as if finding them pointless to answer. What I did know was that in this house – somewhere – was a vaulted chamber containing chests and in one of those chests was a dragon egg. So I kept moving and felt anxiety grow within me. I could not stay long; already I feared that I had already been sensed and that either Galbatorix's servants or maybe the King were on their way here.

Out of desperation I climbed up the grand staircase and onto the upper floor. Many of those doors were open and they showed grand guest bedrooms, a few sitting rooms and even a child's nursery. All of it dusty and echoing with forgotten memories as if the rooms still remembered the times when they had been used frequently. As if they were still haunted by the ghosts of those who had lived here. I finally came to largest door of all and, when I pushed it open, I found myself in an elaborate bed chamber.

The furniture from the four poster bed to the dresser to the tall bookcases was all the same dark wood as the paneling. It was heavy and medieval to me, but also strangely perfect for this manor house. This had to have been the master bedroom for, even so many years later, jewelry was scattered across the surface of the dressing table with its carved mirror. Everything was iced with dust and, yet, if one looked past that one could almost imagine that Selena or Morzan were still alive. Dresses still hung in the closet, black fighting gear was neatly folded on a chair and a half-finished piece of embroidery was flung carelessly on the desk were papers were still piled. Everything was untouched, exactly as it had been left by the two people who had lived in this place.

I closed the door quickly.

There was something so strange and haunting about being in that room. I did not know either Selena or Morzan but being in their house, seeing their bedroom, had been just a little too close. Say what you like about them, but walking around an abandoned manor house – no matter who had once lived there – would give anyone the shivers.

One quick glance around me confirmed that the door I was looking for was not on this floor and I returned to the echoing central hall. I found myself skipping over passages and servant entrances that I had already been down and searched fruitlessly. There was the corridor to the left. This was a wide passage with paintings and tapestries hanging on the walls. A thick carpet covered the cold marble floor and spiders had created great sweeping webs from the candle brackets.

At first I was certain that the door did not lie along this corridor either. It was exactly the same as the other with the normal kinds of rooms one would expect until, so suddenly that I passed by it at first, was the door I had seen in my vision.

_This is it_, murmured the voice.

_How do I get in? _

_Using the key. _

I silently groaned in frustration, _Where is the key?_

_You have already seen it_, answered the voice. _You have it now._

Alright – we need to stop for a second. Press the stop button. Hold onto your horses. Chill out for a minute.

Don't look so irritated or confused, I will explain it. You see this little detail slipped my mind long ago – so much has happened since then that I actually didn't even remember I still had it or even that it had been given to me. You see, after the battle in Farthen Dur while Brom was patching both of us up, he asked Murtagh to remove his outer tunic so he could get at a large bruise on Murtagh's right shoulder. When my friend did remove his tunic something had clattered out of an inner pocket that had been ripped during battle. I saw it and knelt to retrieve the fallen object which had, to my surprise, been an ornate silver key with a complicated design. I had made to give it back to Murtagh, but he had refused saying that I should hold onto it for now and he would get it from me later. He gave no reason or explanation and so I had slipped it into a small, inner pocket in my own gear and thought nothing more of it. My mind, already skipping onto other more important things as Brom began to speak of the patrols being organized and Eragon's fight with death, forgot about it until now. The key – strange as it was – had been lost amid the talk of Urgals, Empire attack strategies and worry for Eragon.

Let's press play again.

So, with frantic fingers, I reached into that hidden pocket that I hadn't even thought about or considered all these months. I didn't even tell you and that – considering what I do tell you – is amazing in itself. I held my breath for, back in Farthen Dur; I had thrown away my one set of gear after it was too ruined to even consider repairing. Was that the set which contained the key? Had I, like someone at a Laundromat with a winning lottery ticket, thrown them carelessly away? For a second I couldn't seem to get at the pocket, my fingers so frantic that I couldn't manage to make them work.

Then...

It was there. The key was actually there. The silver shone dully in the light of my stone.

Galbatorix must have given it to Murtagh – why was a mystery – but he had. The key was now in my hand and its weight was almost unnoticeable. Or maybe it wasn't the King at all, but someone who felt the only way to open the treasury door belonged to the only heir to the treasure that lay within. You can read this situation many different ways but, suffice to say, that somewhere – for some reason – someone had given this key to Murtagh and he, whether because of some outside influence or twist of fate, had given it to me. Somehow, through everything, the key had ended up in my pocket and I hadn't even thought of it or even felt it.

Locks are not difficult things to open.

They all work on the same system: little tumblers keep the lock closed in this position and open in that position, the more tumblers you have, the more expensive the lock, but if a thief can open a lock with four tumblers, they can open one with six or eight or twelve almost as easily. Or, if you are like me, you are lucky enough to carry the key around for a couple months not knowing it. However, if you really want keep something safe, I would say a good guard is your best chance or you just put enough wards around a place that not even a mouse could squeeze past them. Because, being able to find valuables in boxes hidden behind bed frames, being able to move through a building with no one the wiser, those are more important for a thieves. And, this day, I am a thief.

_What wards will I activate?_ I asked the presence which, while it had been faint before, pulsed stronger now.

_The wards are tied to the key. If you use the key to open the door then no wards will be activated and no traps. That is how Galbatorix intended to retrieve the egg._

What, I wondered, was the King feeling right now. He had lost the son of Morzan and, with the son of his greatest servant, he had lost the key to. No wonder he would be desperate to capture Murtagh and return him safely to his care – he would save two important pieces of his game and he needed them back. Perhaps he could circumvent the wards set upon this place, but that would still take time and great deal of effort. I made me smirk ever so slightly to think of it all and how infuriating it must be for the most powerful person in this world to have lost this game.

Sliding the key into the lock I turned it. The lock moved soundlessly and the knob turned easily beneath my gloved hand as I replaced the key in my pocket and allowed it to fall open to show the room before me. I raised my light and let the clear illumination fall across what lay inside.

The room beyond was vaulted. There were no windows and no doors save the one that I had entered through. Enormous stone pillars held up a shadowed roof, illuminated by the lint of a row of candelabras. The pillars were carved all around with loops and scrolls of runes, forming intricate patterns that teased the eye. Huge tapestries hung down from the walls, each one depicting some scene from the history of Alagaesia with brightly colored thread. There was a great gilt-framed mirror at the far end which made the place seem twice as large. Chests, coated in dust and spider webs, were flung around the room in no order with some stacked in precarious piles and others who were empty with their lids flung back. A rat skirted away from me and my light. The air was stale.

_Hurry,_ came the voice, _Gabatorix will soon know of your presence here. Even if he does not know who came he will know someone did come._

_I am hurrying_, I groused, _but where do I look?_

The voice was silent - most inconveniently so. I moved forward on silent feet looking at the chests as if, by examining them, I could randomly choose the one most likely to hold a dragon egg. Something drew me towards the center of the room, some strange sense that what I searched for was somewhere in the middle of this jumbled place. Three trunks, their lids closed, were piled together. I ran along the top of one of the trunks, leaving a clean strip but coating my gloved hand in grey dust and cobweb. When I tried the lid of the trunk it opened soundlessly to show...nothing. The bottom of the trunk was bare and perfectly empty.

The same was said of the other trunk and - just as I was beginning to doubt the instincts that had led me to this part of the room - I opened the lid of the third. The lid was heavy and a fountain of dust rose up from it as I forced it upwards. The dust made my eyes water and I coughed as, squinting, I looked down into the dark interior of the trunk. A soft leather bag, about a foot in width, was lying on the wooden bottom. My heart began to pound and then, frightened of what I was about to do, I lifted the bag up from the bottom of the trunk. It was heavy and I nearly dropped it.

I did not need to remove the soft, padded leather covering to see what lay beneath. I could feel it. I could sense it and I knew without a shadow of doubt that, in my hands, was one of the last dragon eggs in this entire world. I did not wait - there was no time to waste. With the egg firmly gripped in my hands, I rose from the dusty floor and swiftly undid my quiver of arrows. I had removed most of my arrows so that there would be just enough room inside the tube for a round object and I would rather the egg was out of my arms just in case I did have to fight. Once the egg was safely placed in the center of the tube surrounded by arrows, I turned and hurried out.

_Now what?_ I asked of the presence without even pausing.

_You must get back to the place you arrived here at. Hurry. The King's servants are already on their way. They will be here soon._

My feet did not pause.

I cast quietness and caution to the winds as I ran through the house and slipped through the gigantic entrance doors. A cold breeze had risen while I had been inside and stirred the leaves on the trees. The sky was cold and dark still - no sign of the sun peeking through the iron grey clouds. The air was tense and I could feel power crackling through it. It seemed my taking of the egg had caused something of a domino reaction. Maybe the power that had guided me here had been doing battle against the wards that guarded this place and, now, it could not stop the rippling waves that were sent out by my retrieval of the egg.

I need to go and go soon.

For a second I stood still and quiet on the steps of Morzan's manor house. For a second I felt as if I stood on the edge of fate. This single action had sent things scattering across the board that this game was played on. I felt as if every single power that had an influence on this world turned to look at me and analyzed my actions - my very soul - and I do not know why I felt like that. I do not know why, but it terrified me and I felt myself grip the hilt of my sword as if I was going to draw it and challenge those that watched me.

And then the moment passed and I began to run again.

I ran through the garden, down paths and around fountains and leaping over benches until, just as I came close to the flower bed I had originally landed in, that I heard it. I was just a few meters away from the place where I needed to get when I skidded to a stop and froze.

The cackling of a someone - something - that has trapped its prey and knows that there is no escape. It was the cackle that the Raz'ac made - the clacking of a beak mixed with evil joy that was so unnatural it sent shivers down my spine. I had never heard it before, but my imagination had conjured it more than once and I knew, immediately, what it was.

From behind a rose bush came two of the creatures. Was everything I had done - all this - for nothing? A sudden wave of absolute despair washed over me. I felt as if all the breath had been sucked from my body as I came face to face with the foulest of the King's servants. I should have guessed that they would be sent, few ever escaped these two unscathed and I had no doubts that it would take a great deal of luck to do so. I could feel the foul air of despair that emanated from the black creatures rolling off of them and it took all my wards to block it so it did not incapacitate me.

I had come so far and done so much only to lose this fight now. It took all my training to force the despair and panic away so that I could concentrate on the two black clothed figures before me. The presence was faint at my side and I could only hope that it would return and help me - if I handled the Raz'ac it had to handle the portal.

I did not let myself think. I drew my sword and settled onto the balls of my feet in a fighting stance. My eyes flickered left and right between the two of them. They could not see my face with the mask I wore but they would remember, if not my size, then my smell. The two creatures were focused on my glittering blade.

"Foolish human," said one of the creatures. "What could you hope to gain?"

I tossed my hair defiantly and smirked. "I have not lost. Nor have you won."

One of the creatures cackled, "You are a fool with some courage."

I did not even think about it. I whipped my blade through the air and slashed at the creature. The blade sang and came so close to cutting into him, but he leapt backwards just before it could touch him. The Ra'zac screeched angrily and then, as if to show their lack of fear, they reached up at exactly the same time and pushed their black hoods off.

There was nothing even vaguely human about the creature's face but it was not quite as hideous as I had thought it would be. The head was surprisingly small and the beak that emerged from it was curved slightly at the tip like a parrot's beak. Huge dark eyes sunk deep behind a narrow brow ridge, cheekbones high and sharp. There was no mouth.

"These things are of little consequence. I see before me a frightened little girl. I can hear your muscles straining and taste your fear on the air." The one who had spoken clicked its beak as if excited at the meal I would make.

"And yet I still attacked you," I said quietly. "What does that suggest?"

The creature's shoulders moved in an akward shrug. "That you are either a fool or a hero."

"You can be killed by both," I said.

"True, but there are no more heroes left in the world. None to attack us. We are invisible…invulnerable."

I smiled then and brought my sword up, "Not to Numir."

The creature titled its head and then nodded. "Not to that sword, that is true. But there are two of us and we are fast, so fast," it added with a clack of its beak that sounded almost like laughter. "I think we can take you, girl; cut the sword from your hands before you even know it's…"

Instincts told me that I had to move the second the Ra'zac stopped speaking. Then it would be all over. Without thinking, I slashed my sword in a downward arc. The blade flashing as the point narrowly missed the creature's beak as it prepared to launch itself at me. The Ra'zac danced out of range and hissed its anger. I did not hesitate. I already knew what I wanted and I needed no words to make it happen.

One heartbeat. The magic swirled up within me.

Two heart beats. The magic was flowing outwards.

Three heartbeats. The Ra'zac screamed in pain as fire leapt for them and caught their black robes and lit them on fire.

Four heart beats. I leapt forward and straight towards the fountain and the flower bed where, just a few hours before, I had fallen through a portal.

I was so close…

I felt the presence – that one that had guided me so far - suddenly pulse with brilliant power beside me. I felt the magic of the portal, so wild and alien that had pulled me into it before, rise up around me and mix with my own power. I felt the wild magic surge within me and I struggled to protect myself even as I was helpless against it. It was screaming through my mind, threatening to detach me from reality as it sept me up in an uncontrollable tidal wave of power.

Then, just as the entire world went black, I felt a shooting pain in my side. A brilliant pain that made me cry out in agony even as I felt myself swept up in the portal as my own magic died and all I could feel was sudden emptiness. Darkness that pulled me beyond pain and time and distance swallowed me up.

There was nothing. There was no pain. My body felt light and as if I was made up of nothing but air.

I was suspended in the darkness for what I have been an age or no time at all.

I heard a voice, the voice of the woman who had given me my stone in Farthen Dur. Her white robed figure was suddenly before me, her hair falling in a shining curtain. Those eyes so old and wise were looking at me. She called my name. Of course she knew my name - I knew that - yet hearing her say it aloud tore away any comforting pretense of anonymity. I hesitated, and she called again.

"I am here," I answered.

"You did it," she said quietly. "You retrieved what you sought."

I nodded my head.

"You are badly wounded Zoe," she said and her eyes flickered to my side. I could not feel anything in this place and so, looking down and seeing the handle of knife buried in my right shoulder, made me gasp in surprise. The Ra'zac must have thrown it and, just as I was swept up in the portal, the blade had found its mark: in me. "You might not be able to go back." The woman's voice was quiet and her eyes shone with compassion.

"I must go back," I said simply. There was no emotion in this place, only the truth and sometimes the truth hurts. Sometimes the truth is the hardest thing of all.

"There is no shame if you did not." She paused as if she had nothing left to say. Then suddenly she asked, "Who brings you here?"

"I bring myself," I whispered.

"Then will you go?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in my voice – none at all. I had to go back. The egg had to go back.

"Be cautious," she said as turned and faded away leaving me in the darkness that suddenly seemed to be rushing away and suddenly I was falling.

I was tumbling through emptiness until, like once before that day, I slammed into the ground. The pain slammed into me then. I opened my eyes and all I could see was the sky over me and the stone archway. The blue and the stone arch was all I could see. There were no trees or Glaedr or Oromis. People seemed to be shouting, but they were very far away. They were important people, shouting about me. I heard Islanzardi, Arya, Eragon, Saphira and other voices that came from my past. I thought they might be my family or my friends. Maybe they were even people from Earth. I wanted to tell them not to fuss so. I wanted to explain that I would be alright and there was nothing to be so upset about, but the pain was too much.

The blue sky above me turned to red and then to black.

And I was gone.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Revised 26/2014_**

**_Enjoy!_**


	56. Chapter 57

The memories caught me in a never-ending swirl of images and sensations…

_Caer Daythl rising taller than the mountain peaks behind it. The walls gleamed a brilliant white in the sunlight…_

_A commander's tent in the middle of a bustling army camp. The sky above was iron-grey and the ground churned to mud that pulled at my boots as I walked towards the brightly colored tent that flew the flag of Angard proudly despite the dismal scene around it…_

_The ocean stretching out to meet the dome of the horizon in a thin shimmering blue line. The salty sea breeze catching my unbound hair and tossing it widely even as I looked out and saw a storm building far out to sea that would, no doubt, be blown to the coast and smash against the coast with all its power…_

_The numbing pain of watching my father's shrouded body placed in its final resting place beside his ancestors. My brother's and sister standing close beside me and a cold breeze making the flowers that had been cast on the ground by the stone crypt rustle…_

_The bedroom I always used in Caer Calldren. My sister was lying on my bed, her golden hair spread out across the cream-colored pillow with her eyes closed. One hand rested on the opening page of a thick book where, in thin cursive letters, I recognized the words I had written in that strange dream…_

_I stood on the edge of a mountain cliff and looked out over a deep valley. Below me, a long column of Huntsmen was moving rapidly westward. I looked across and then a movement caught my eye on the distant wall of rock. From the deepening shadows I saw, one by one, the figures of Eomund's group of rangers. Somehow, in this strange dream, I knew that it was my brother and I could already see the faces of the men who had served beneath him. It was suddenly, coldly clear to me that the rangers and the Huntsman, as yet unseen by each other, were moving closer together. I could not call out for the echoes would be lost in the vast expanse. They could neither see nor hear me. Darkness had now fallen, blinding me to the inevitable clash of the warriors and the Huntsmen, it was a nightmare in which all action was useless. In which I could only wait for the slaughter bound to come. My hands were tied and my voice stifled. _

_Desperate, I snatched my stone from my black cloak and lifted it high. Brighter and brighter it glowed. The beams spread and rose toward the clouds, as though the sun itself was brushing from the mountainside the dark cliffs and black branches of the trees were drenched in light, brilliant and clear. The whole valley had turned bright as noon... _

_Notes from a harp filled my mind. Heavy notes that were laden with mourning, yet it was sorrow without despair..._

_The music faded and now I stood in the ruins of an ancient castle long fallen to disrepair. In the dawn light the shattered walls seemed bloodstained. Below the broken castle was a makeshift army camp where men were assembling as if to hear a speech. Many faces - pale and exhausted in the flickering torch light – were looking up towards the place where I stood beside Pethred, Eomund and Lucia. My eldest brother's eyes looking towards the dark horizon as if searching for some answer in the choking blackness. Then, turning to the men, he raised a hand and spoke. "I honor the memory of my father, Mathonwy Son of the House of Angard and all those who died." To me the words sounded raw with pain and my own heart beat heavy with grief - a pain that went beyond the loss of my father but all that he had represented. _

_From somewhere in the crowd a voice called out, "A High King still lives! I honor the High King!" The words spread and suddenly the grim assembly of weary warriors transformed into a cheering crowd as they spoke Pethred's name over and over... _

_I stood in the shattered remains of a village. The ground was wet with blood and the small houses burned to the ground. The thatch had burned from the roofs, and many of the walls had split and crumbled. The ruins open to the sky. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder and I looked around to see the kind face of a ranger who had ridden with me for many years. His name was Llassar and I drew myself away even as I stared at him. "Did I shout for victory today?" I asked bitterly. "Small comfort to those I am supposed to protect! Have I served them well?" _

_The man sighed heavily and I saw my own pain mirrored in his eyes. "It is," he said quietly, "harsh enough for each man to bear his own wound. But he who leads bears the wounds of all who follow. The same is said of you lady of Angard." His face faded away and the image changed..._

_Dream after dream. I could not find my way out of them; it was as if I was trapped in a net of memories that refused to let me escape them. Ever present, like an old friend, was Death. It called to me, spoke of the peace I could find in its endless depths even though I struggled against I with fading strength. _

_I saw their faces in the blackness. There was my father's noble face fixed in death and my mother's closed eyes as she slipped away to a place I could not follow – where she could not return from. I heard voices coming from behind me. Voices that belonged to those who stilled lived and called me back, but it was hard to hear them the longer the shadows swirled around me. Through all of it I was aware of some deep aching pain that the shadows could only block a little. _

_At times it seemed as if my mind wished to try and comfort me with good dreams. But I was wounded and ill, and the dark memories of the past crept in reminding me of battles that went wrong and loved ones who I did not reach in time. Through it all I felt hope's flame falter and weaken. I sank, and then fought to the surface, then sank again, and wondered why I should bother with fighting. _

_Far better to drown, whispered a dark corner of my mind where fear coiled behind a thin veil of doubt. _

_So I sank deeper and the dreams came faster and faster. I sank into the churning mess of memories and feelings – into the shadow – and I knew there was little hope of rescue. It was my choice. To fight or to give in and fall._

_I will not lie. _

_It was hard. Fighting my way back towards the light was like clawing my way up an elevator shaft. I want you to know that. I want you to understand that I fought - hard - just to open my eyes once more. We have spoken of this before - I do not know where you live or what you have endured. I cannot know right now, but I can tell you that there are times letting go seems like sweet release while holding on is like trying to hold water in your hands. This time I managed it, but I do not know if I will next time. For, in the life I live, there is always a next time and there is always the chance that it will be your last. _

_But in the end it was simply not in me to give up. It was wrong. It went against every pulse that still coursed through my veins. It might be hopeless, but I had to keep on. So I did it. _

It was dark when I opened my eyes.

For the first time in too long I opened my eyes to a clear world, where fever did not distort faces or voices. There was a sense that I had emerged at last from a dark place to which I would never return – or I hoped never to. I recognized the ceiling of my room in Du Weldenvarden and I sank into the comfortable mattress with a soft sigh. The sheets were soft and I heard the soft sounds of summer rain drops hitting the closed windows in a soothing rhythm. Foolishly I attempted to sit up and immediately wished I hadn't. Hot pain drove through my head like a spike, followed by a racking way of nausea and more pain from the knife wound. I must have given myself a concussion falling through the arch – the portal – that last time. My entire body felt heavy and weak.

It was then, as I shifted upon the bed, that I saw Oromis sitting in a chair by my bed, reading a book. I felt a small smile cross my face as, sensing my gaze, the elf raised his head and smiled despite the clear worry in his silver eyes. "Zoe?" he asked gently and then, as if checking for a fever, he rested the back of his cool hand on my forehead before dropping it back to his lap. "You have decided not to sleep away the rest of your life away after all."

"Is it alright?" I rasped. My voice was scratchy with disuse and my throat. I began to cough, each one sending a stab of pain through my side and making me close my eyes tightly as I rode the pain out.

"Yes," said the elf immediately, knowing exactly of what I spoke and why I could not relax at all until I knew that it had made it here. "Glaedr is guarding it for now." Picking a glass of water up from the bedside table he held it for me for, in my weakened state, I could not raise myself enough to hold the glass myself. The water was blessedly cold and refreshing. It made me sigh in relief as I sank once more into the soft pillow.

"What happened?" I asked.

The elf sighed and sat back in his chair, "You were injured when you came through the arch way. Glaedr and I brought you here and one of Islanzardi's healers tended your wound."

"How long?" I asked, not sure I would like the answer at all.

"Two days," said the elf grimly, "the blade was coated in a poison that was difficult to counteract and it became apparent that there were two poisons at work. One that depressed your systems until your heart nearly stopped beating – and would have without magic – and another that did the opposite. It could not be removed using magical purposes for it was spelled against such healing techniques. Once the last of it has cleared your system the wound can be closed with magic." He puased and then continued gently, "Eragon and Saphira are anxious to see you." The rain continued to batter against the window, the rhythm soothing to my troubled heart and mind.

"Ah" I said and I sighed heavily as I remembered the meeting with the black creatures and the pain which had flared in my side as I fell through the portal.

The egg, at least, was here and the King would no doubt be quite ready to exact a painful price for the loss of his most prized possession. No doubt the other egg would be placed under every enchantment in the book and never leave his sight. Still, two days was too long for my liking and a quick glance around the room showed me the evidence of a healer's trade. The nightstand was cluttered with a pitcher of water, a bowl and a cup as well as a pile of fresh bandages. No doubt magic had been used, but magic cannot heal everything all the time and sometimes a body must do a little on its own. Hopefully, if Oromis was correct, magic could finish the job and save my body all that time.

"You nearly pushed yourself to far this time," said the elf and then, gently he said. "You have managed to come back from the road upon which there is usually no returning, and that is no small feat of strength."

"I am fine," I said as if I was speaking to my father or brothers not Oromis. It suddenly struck me how much I had come to trust and rely on the elf if I could engage in the kind of words I would have once spoken to my close family or friends. The elf's quick answer brought a little joy to my heart for it was one I had heard before – many times – from those tired of inability to see when I had reached the limits of my endurance. I had always claimed it was a skill learned from Pethred – one that Eomund also picked up and one that lessons in selflessness and caring for others had only given validation to.

"You should purge the word 'fine' from your vocabulary," said the elf with a faint smile. "I never want to hear it coming from your mouth again."

I managed a weak smile, but other concerns were starting to way on me and I was about to speak when the elf cut across me and said, "You must rest." His silver eyes looking at me sternly, "Tomorrow you can explain what happened and how you retrieved the egg. Until then…" a small smile flickered across his face.

He was right. Sleepiness sweeping over me in a warm wave and I could barely keep my eyes open. It tugged at me and I was willing to let myself go. This time it was dreamless. This time I was not struggling to turn away from the shadows and this time you were not telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I had better live.

* * *

><p>The sun was just sending its warm, welcome light over the horizon when Eragon felt himself rise back to full awareness like a swimmer breaking the surface of the water to a take a breath of air. He had not been asleep, for he had not slept for these past few days since the Celebration, but rather rested as the elves did. His mind had been wandering down dream paths that allowed him to remain semi-aware of his surroundings even as he saw things one only saw in dreams – wondrous visions and comforting recollections of his childhood.<p>

He watched the sunrise and thought back to the events – or lack of – these past few days. Arya had wished him well the day following the Celebration for she was to leave the following morning and, while the goodbyes had been difficult, they had already said them that night at the end of the Blood Oath when magic had been so heavy on the air. There had been no sign of Zoe and he wondered where she was and why she had not come to see him. Perhaps like him she needed more than a day to recover. However, he had expected to see her the previous day and, when he had gone to Tildari Hall, had not been able to locate her which troubled both him and Saphira.

Today, he decided, he would find her once his training was done. So, rising, he went to the wash closet and then made his way down the tree to the practice field with Saphira. The dragon and rider soaring high above the tree tops before landing on the edge of the open field where a few elves were sparring though not with any seriousness.

Vanir was already waiting for them. His face still cold and his attitude still verging on condescending greeted the two and then asked, "Are you ready Shadeslayer?"

Eragon felt a small thrill of trepidation in his heart. He had held his own with Vanir, but never for long and always it had ended with a searing lance of pain from his back. Zoe's more underhand moves had helped and reduced the number of bruises Eragon had received, but they had not helped him to victory only lengthened the fight. Sometimes, to the Rider's amusement, they had been enough to throw the elf off his game and let Eragon deliver a bruise or welt of his own.

But now…would he, could he, win this duel on pure skill? Could he match this elf as an equal deserving of caution when it came to a duel?

"I'm ready," said the Rider.

_Good luck little one, _said Saphira as the two squared off against each other in an open area of the field. Emptying his mind as Zoe had taught him until he was aware of all but not distracted by it, Eragon grasped the hilt of his sword. Zar'roc was not a small blade; it had taken weeks for Eragon to become accustomed to the heavy weight at his side or the way it felt in his hand. Yet this day, as he whipped the blade out, it felt as light as the sticks he had first learned to duel with. Without the expected and familiar resistance he nearly let the sword go – only keeping ahold of it because his sword arm was bent.

Feeling troubled by the sudden lightness he was beginning to wonder if his original suspicions about the true scope of his gift were correct. The only way to find out, however, was to test them. So, Eragon hefted his now mysteriously light sword.

Vanir started the fight. In a single bound, he crossed the distance between them and swept his sword up toward Eragon who - feeling as if the world was set on its head - was stunned by how slow the elf was moving. Vanir had once been so fast, his reflexes so perfect that it had taken months for Eragon to even guess where he may strike. Now, however, it was as if he was as slow as a human. It was easy to brush the blow off and continue the duel with a blow of his own.

The elf, a stunned expression on his face, struck again and Eragon merely evaded it finding it easy. Vanir, seeming to grow frustrated, rained a score of heavy blows upon Eragon, each of which he dodged or blocked, using a few of the tricks taught to him by Zoe to avoid and not engage.

As it became apparent just what gift the dragons had bestowed upon him, Eragon felt his confidence grow. As his confidence and faith in his skills grew he felt an excited, exhilarated feeling grow within him just to be handling a sword and dueling like this. He had missed feeling confident in his physical abilities and, to his shock; he had missed holding his sword with confidence as if he, a warrior, knew that he was capable of victory. Over the months of sword play he had grown to love the speed, the adrenalin and concentration it required from him.

So, fueled by that and a desire to test out his skills, he and Vanir truly engaged with each other and filled the air with the crashing sounds of their blades. The forces of their blows sending blue sparks flying and making the trees shake. The dual lasted long into the morning, far longer than ever before, because Vanir was still a formidable opponent. It was then, after a flurry of intense blows, that Eragon felt it for the first time in his life. Everything slowed down. In those few moments every problem had a solution and nothing was beyond him – he felt alive. Truly and wonderfully alive. The world slowed to a crawl and the sword was in his hand. There was no doubt he would win for he had already won. He was thinking two or three steps ahead. He knew, without a doubt, that if something had not happened then he knew another few dozen scenarios would have presented themselves.

So, playing his sword in a circle, he darted past Vanir's guard and wrenched the sword from the elf's hands. The force of the blow sending the elf to his knees as his sword fell to the ground. The elf's face went white with shock and Eragon became aware of how hard he was breathing – how intense those minutes of dueling had been and how he had never felt that alive, that aware, before.

Then, to Eragon's amazement, Vanir did what Eragon had never expected: the elf twisted his hand in a gesture of fealty, placed it upon his sternum, and bowed. "I thought you had consigned my race to the void, Eragon-elda, and out of my fear I acted most shamefully. However, it seems that I was wrong." Meeting Eragon's eyes with a look of respect and grudging understanding the elf said quietly, "You are now worthy."

It was the same look that the elf had given Zoe when he found himself looking cross-eyed down the length of her sword that first day. To Eragon the idea of having it directed at him was not only unsettling, but strangely right. He had defended himself this day and had proved, without a shadow of doubt, that he was not the terrible mistake that many had feared he was. It was a good feeling. The best feeling and he did not mind, suddenly, that it had changed him into something that was unrecognizable.

Vanir rose and sheathed his sword before departing. He left Eragon standing, feeling suddenly very old, in the middle of their practice ring. Saphira gently tapped her Rider on the shoulder and silently he nodded before mounting. He was tempted to go to the target practice and use his bow, but if the duel was any indication, using his bow would only break it. His arm was too strong now and, if he pulled back a little too hard, he would break the bow. Something that he could not do – the weapon had been with him through thick and thin. It deserved an honorable retirement.

From the open field, he and Saphira flew to the white Crags of Tel'Naeir and presented themselves to Oromis, who was standing looking out at the forest with his farseeing eyes. Glaedr was, surprisingly absent and Eragon wondered briefly where the golden giant was. Oromis sent them a glancing look and then asked, "Have you both fully recovered from the potent magic of the Celebration?"

"We have," echoed the two in response.

"Glaedr explained to me, as best he could, what was done to you during the celebration, Eragon, but he could not explain all the changes you would experience. So I would like you to describe the full extent of your transformation, including your appearance." The endless grey eyes, so watchful and ancient, met Eragon's own.

Doing his best to summarize all that had been altered; he finished with a description of the remarkable victory over Vanir. When he finished Eragon waited patiently as his tutor studied the forest that stretched to the horizon. Eragon had become used to such silences from the old Rider during the time they had spent together as student and master. Yet, this day, the Rider seemed distracted as if his mind was somewhere else completely and Eragon wished he could think of a polite way of inquiring on this point. It turned out that he did not need to.

Then, to both Eragon and Saphira's surprise, Oromis turned and spoke. "There is a matter of great urgency that I have been charged to explain to the pair of you." The Rider fixed the pair before him with an intense stare and then continued, "Zoe wished for me to explain it to save time and to prevent you both from worrying over a matter you could not influence."

"What?" asked Eragon and he took a small step forward wondering, as he did so, what his teacher meant.

Then - with precise words – Oromis explained how Zoe, their Zoe, had left to retrieve a dragon egg from Morzan's manor. How she had activated an ancient portal and traveled there to bypass every ward and trap to retrieve the red dragon egg. How she had returned with the egg secure in her quiver and, yet, with a knife in her side – a wound that might just take her life. How Glaedr was there and would switch places with Oromis so that the dragon could continue Eragon and Saphira's training for the day.

Neither Eragon nor Saphira could summon a response for a minute. They were full of complicated emotions and thoughts. There was excitement at the idea of another dragon; something that Saphira found particularly uplifting for it meant one step closer to saving her race and made Eragon's burden a little lighter. There was anger that Zoe had not come to them and explained her mission as well as fear that they would lose her. Now, with Zoe's life teetering on the edge, could Eragon be justified in his anger? His heart was confused and his mind reeling with all the possibilities - the implications - created by this new event.

Looking at his teacher, Eragon went to ask a question but Oromis cut in before he could speak. "Do not be angry with her," said the Rider gently. "The choice was not easy for her to make. Had she known more of what she faced, I am sure she would have spoken with you before."

"It is the idea," said Eragon with a heavy sigh as he struggled to articulate his feelings, "that she purposely did not tell us." He knew that Saphira was, at this moment, too caught up in the idea of another egg to truly care whether or not she had been informed. At this moment her thoughts were flying eye with images of another ally who could assist her in the struggle to save the race of dragons.

"Zoe has told you a remarkable amount," said Oromis gently. "She has trusted the pair of you with information that she would never normally share." There was something in Oromis's voice tha made Eragon wonder, briefly, what information his teacher spoke of.

"But this!" said Eragon even though he saw understanding in his teacher's eyes. "Why could she not tell us of this?"

"Because she did not understand it all," said Oromis and the elf stepped closer until he and Eragon were looking eye to eye. "You must speak with Zoe on this matter, but I can tell you this." The elf rested both of his cool hands on Eragon's shoulder and said even softer, "Zoe will always tell you the things you need to understand to live or the things that may take her life. She will not hold back then. But she will hold her tongue when speaking of it to you will only distract and worry you." The elf dropped his hand and gestured with one hand at the distant horizon, "I cannot pretend to know her and, yet, I would trust her implicitly." He looked at Eragon sternly, "I would think you would to."

Eragon was silent for a long moment. He knew that his anger was out of fear for Zoe, Oromis had been quite specific on how severe the wound was and that, it appeared, to be the blade of a Ra'zac. Yet he also knew that he would speak with Zoe on the matter – in the end he did not want to find out of such momentous events two days after plans were set in motion. But now was not the time for such things and the one he needed to speak with may very well not live. So he just nodded and Oromis looked towards the sky where the giant shape of Glaedr was growing larger as he came closer.

"I will go," said the older Rider and then, as if uncertain how Eragon would take it. "I will let you know when Zoe is awake."

Eragon nodded and yet he felt as if the world was changing too fast for him to keep up. For, as Glaedr began to unfurl his wings and begin his descent, a memory had surfaced in his mind. It was from a few weeks before, just after he had arrived in Ellesmera and he was feeling as if his inadequacy as a Rider was slowly choking him, drowning him in a sea. Homesickness had been heavy on his heart to, memories of simpler times when stories were stories and Riders were just legends whispered by an old man.

_"Sometimes," said Zoe as she sat beside him in the small clearing that they practiced in together during the evenings, "our lives change so fast that the change outpaces our minds and hearts. It's those times, I think, when our lives have altered but we still long for the time before that we feel the greatest pain. You do learn though and you can't imagine, or even really remember how things were before." _

_"So I'll get used to being this?" _

_"You've always been who you are. That's not new. It is the things you have learned and gained that are different." _

_"I wish it wasn't this way," he twirled a stem of grass between his fingers. _

_"Evil cannot be conquered by wishing." A subtle change in her voice altering it, deepening it, making it powerful, commanding as if she was giving him an order not a piece of advice. _

It was that memory, something he had almost forgotten, that suddenly came to him. He had changed so much and the dragon's gift, as wondrous as it was, had taken him that one step farther from everything he had ever known and cherished. His anger with Zoe was foolish and he knew it just as he knew that she had only been protecting him because, soon, he would have to bear the full brunt of the world. Already he found himself feeling out of place with these new skills – this new body and face – that was so alien and, yet, so right - so fitting - to.

Resting a hand on Saphira's shoulder he looked up into her eyes and whispered to her, _What now? _

_I do not know, _she said and yet he could feel her joy and excitement as well as her worry and trepidation. Neither of them knew what to make of these changes. Another egg – this one in need of a Rider – had just entered the games of power. Eragon shivered slightly, he felt as if the entire world was holding its breath and he held his own with it.

* * *

><p>It was morning when I woke sunshine was falling warm on my face and dancing on the wall through the billowing curtains. I felt as if I had just descended from a warm cloud where I had been safe and I did not want to leave that cozy place. But sleep was leaving me and the world was calling me. So I opened my eyes once more and found that I felt markedly better – stronger – the bandages had been removed from my chest and my head no longer felt as if there was a hammer banging against my thoughts. No doubt magic had been used recently to clear away a little of the damage I had inflicted upon my poor body.<p>

A voice, this one alien, broke through my sleepy daze. "My lady?"

I pushed myself up - struggling a little for the mattress was soft - and saw a silver haired elf just entering the room. He was dressed in grey and his hair glinted like polished steel in the bright morning light. "I don't think we have met," I said as the elf moved closer to the bed on his silent elven feet.

"I am Ereion," said the elf, "Queen Islanzardi's chief healer." He inclined his head and I realized that this must be the elf that had cared for me and removed the poison from the wound which now seemed to have been magically healed.

"It's a pleasure," I said with a warm smile and as much gratitude as the simple sentence would carry.

The elf smiled a little and then said, "I must go but I suggest you take your time. I was able to heal your wound, but you should not strain it – or yourself – for a few days more." His words holding the usual caution and professional detachment that all healers had – or at least the one's worth their weight in gold. I readily agreed to his prescribed 'rest and more rest' if only to keep him happy and prevent him from going to more drastic ways of preventing me from straining myself. I am sure you can imagine what drastic healer's will do and I can assure you it is not pleasant. Don't look so amused! One day you might be here to!

Once he was gone, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat for a quiet moment to make sure that even that small movement was not too much for my recently healed wound. Shoving the blanket away and, eyeing the rucksack on the chair which contained my precious books, I slowly eased myself to my feet. I was a little shaky, for a few brief moments my eyesight dimmed but only in the way that it does when one has been crouching for too long and then stands too quickly. A few blinks and my sight returned. I smiled a little – I was ready. My goal: the books inside my bag and then a return to my bed just in case some well-meaning healer showed up again.

Taking a deep breath and then a step, and then in short order a few more. I was stiff and still a bit sore, but nothing like how I had felt the night before. Elvish medicine was remarkable stuff and it had done a fine job of patching me up without as much as a scar to memorialize the adventure. Once I had a few books in hand, and feeling a little shaky now, I returned to my bed where I promptly curled up and spent a few good hours rereading my favorite parts in each of the various novels that had been sent along with me when all this began.

I had never figured out who or why the bag had been prepared for me or why so much attention had gone into it. The books – my books from Earth – were not an essential survival item unless one counted mental survival as highly as physical. I am afraid most do not – adventures are not friendly to books and I was glad for whatever chemicals kept these well-thumbed Barnes & Noble specials in one piece. Not only the books, but the cooking utensils and clothing had all been carefully chosen and packed.

It was late afternoon, the sun's rays beginning to take on the gold of sunset, when a knock came at the door to my bedroom. "Come in," I said and the door opened to show Eragon. When he as me a grin spread across his face and I could not help but grin right back. It was so strange to see him now, reader. So strange, like wandering around a corner in an unfamiliar city and seeing your own house. A surprising and not entirely pleasant recognition as if you were saying: How can this be here?

He looked like an elf in many ways – moved and, when he spoke a second later, it was like an elf. There was little of the rough, eager farm boy to his face now and only in his eyes, those intense brown eyes, did I see the friend I knew and loved. They were still his eyes, older now and shadowed but not dim or hard. Life had not beaten him down until he had nothing, not even the barest trace of that intangible thing called hope. Not yet and, if I could, I would make sure he never experienced what it felt like to reach the end of everything and find that you were expected to keep going.

"Zoe," he said with a grin that grew into a smile and then into a bigger smile. "Oromis told me you had finally wakened." The Rider drew closer and took a seat on the edge of my bed while I, like a sleepy cat, stretched my arms above my head and did my best to conceal the wince that the movement caused.

"How are you?" asked Eragon.

"I have been worse," I said with a small smile. "I feel much better now than when I first woke."

"You are not giving a direct answer," said the Rider with a smile. "But I suppose I have seen you in worse shape then this." Both of us remembering the poison that Durza had forced down my throat in Gil'ead and I winced again. This entire trip to Alagaesia seemed far more trouble than it was worth. I had been poisoned, wounded and wounded again. Lucky for magic and its ability to heal most injuries – at least the ones I had suffered.

So with mock annoyance I said, "Very well. I still ache all over and my side still hurts when I move. And I'm tired, but I am on the mend. Soon I will be able to spar with you again." I smiled at the Rider and saw understanding in his eyes. "Have you mastered you new abilties?" I asked and waved my hand at his now more slender and graceful build.

"Somewhat," he said and then with a slow smile of pride. "I beat Vanir today."

"You did?" I asked and a bubble of happiness for my friend rose inside of me. "Better news I could not have." It was good news – good for Eragon and good for Vanir.

"Zoe," said Eragon and any pride or levity fled his voice. His eyes meeting mine and his voice becoming serious, too serious for light conversation, and I knew what he was about to say and ask. "Do not ever do this to me again."

I looked long into Eragon's eyes. I saw the burning desire – a demand for trust. For the honesty that I knew was fully Eragon's due. There was a note of anger in his voice, but mostly it was one of someone asking – above all – for you not to do something again. He wanted an oath and, in the end, I knew that he deserved it. I cringed, like I had before, that telling him had been unfairly necessary and I did not like – had not liked it then – but could not bring myself to explain it and defend it once more for those who could not help. But I said none of that. I wanted to say so many things, but in the end knowing that all I could say was incredibly simple. So I just nodded and in the Ancient Language I made my oath. "I promise."

He relaxed a little and his eyes lost their hard look. We spoke a little while longer and Saphira even joined the conversation though she had to content herself with flying above Tildari Hall for she would not fit in the small garden outside my windows. I explained to them both about the message given to me by the dragons, Morzan's manor, the egg and how I navigated my way back. The light was truly beginning to fade when Eragon left and, not long after, Oromis arrived with Islanazrdi.

I was weary, but managed to conceal it and spoke with two elves of what had transpired during my trip to the house and then what to do about the red dragon egg currently in Glaedr's care. It was decided that suitable elves in Du Weldenvarden would be given an opportunity to ask the dragon to hatch, if it did not then the egg would go with me to the Varden where, hopefully, a Rider could be found and then return to the forest for training with Oromis. We spoke long into the night and hammered out a plan that seemed both fair and necessary considering the circumstances.

And time past. My strength returned – though slower than I would have liked. The egg did not hatch for any of the numerous elves that paraded past it and, each time it refused, I began to became more sure of just who this egg was destined for. You never know and fate can change, but I was fairly certain the one for this dragon was currently doing whatever he did for the Varden in Surda and, hopefully, preparing for the battle that looming on the horizon. I don't need to say it to you, but I missed him and Brom. But mostly I missed him and I felt selfish wishing time would speed up when all speeding up would do was bring battle closer.

I dueled with Eragon and he even won a few of our duels. It was fun for us both and - with his increased strength - he was forced to use my bow whenever he wished to practice archery. His own training proceeded with leaps and bounds as he mastered subject after subject. The increase in his strength and endurance allowed him to experiment with more complex spells that would have taken too much energy from him before the Celebration. We still met every evening to practice the subtle skills of debate and politics but, increasingly, our conversations were centered around battle tatics and other skills that could save your life on the battle field.

So there you are. These few weeks after the Celebration and my recovery are all summarized for you. There is one thing I have to say to you, maybe because it seems rather ironic after all that I have seen and done, it is a quote I remember from Earth. One of those fading memories that belonged to Zoe Newman the privileged, but rather pained, annoying and endlessly-trying-to-be-perfect-meet-expectations girl that I shed so long ago_._

_ There is no filling up your life with fictional places and imaginary faces don't help anyone in the long run. _

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><p><strong><em>Revised 26/2014_**


	57. Chapter 58

_You are wearing a hole in the floor, _came the deep voice of the black dragon that was currently spread out behind the ornate throne. The dragon closed his eyes and let out a small puff smoke in annoyance as the sounds of angry footfalls did not stop. It was preventing him from enjoying his daily afternoon nap and he did not see why his master could not stomp somewhere else. Surely that was why he had an entire castle?

_How? _demanded Galbatorix. _How did one human girl – of no extraordinary power – steal my egg? _

Shruikan, already suffering from his lack of an afternoon nap, was in no mood to point out that the girl had to have some power if she had circumvented every single ward and trap layered on that crumbling pile of stone. Or, if she was no power user, then she had to be incredibly gifted at finding her way through a labyrinth of spells and would have had to know exactly what to do in every single situation. But he didn't say any of this, he just kept silent and listened as the King's anger grew and grew.

_Where is it?_ cried the King through the bond he had forged between himself and the black dragon that he had turned to his will. It was not a true bond, but Galbatorix did not want it to be. It served its purpose and nothing more.

_The Varden or the elves have it, _said Shruikan and watched with some amusement as these words made the King turn an even darker shade of red. Soon he would have to destroy something and that always amused the black dragon. He had long since lost any sense of pity or remorse for those that were the target of his master's anger – what did it matter if another round-eared-silly-two-legs got blamed for something that was not their fault?

Galbatorix cast the black dragon a dark glare and then spun away. He had to calm himself and think with a relatively calm way on the issue before him. This girl was long gone and with her was the red dragon egg. Where she had gone or how she had managed to evade every single soldier, magician and spy he had planted throughout his Empire he did not know. But she had. This plain faced, dirty blonde young woman was as impossible to find as a needle in a haystack – she was as ordinary as they came and twice as hard to find. The Ra'zac would be out of commission for some time to. They had been badly burned by the fire the girl had cast at them before she had made her quick escape and, in their agony, they had not seen where she had gone. The blaze had spread across the gardens and charred everything, but the house, to blackened stumps and ash. There was little left of the gardens now and any sign or track of where the girl may have escaped had long been burned away. Only the thick stone wall and wards containing the blaze and saving the surrounding, abandoned land.

A low growl escaped his lips

None of the wards around the perimeter of the manor house had been triggered – none. Only when the thief had removed the egg had he been sent a warning jolt that told him someone had taken the object. He half wanted to meet this girl and squeeze the truth of how she engineered this theft or, as he suspected, who had prepared the way for her. There were few powers left in this land that gave the King pause, very few, and he had no way of knowing which one had acted against him.

Adding to his already towering temper was the effective destruction of his spy network in Surda and the Varden. His favored spy, Vivian, was dead and the King knew his ward, Murtagh, had a hand not only in her death but the deaths or capture of his informants. It would take time to repair the damage done to that section of his spy network and that needed to happen now. There was no information coming into him on any of the Varden's inner workings. He could not even know if they were aware of the army that was massing against them and whether or not his plan of catching them unawares would succeed.

The King's pacing sped up as his anger began to boil over. His right hand gripping the hilt of the startlingly white sword he had stolen from the dead Lord Vrael. The last few months had not been good for his temper and his anger was becoming more explosive. He did not understand how things had gone the way they had. With all the power at his fingertips it did not make any sense how one boy and his dragon had evaded all his spies and soldiers. It did not make sense how one small army of men and dwarves had destroyed his own Urgal army nor did it make sense how one girl had stolen his dragon egg and nearly killed his most dangerous of servants.

With a growl of anger and with sparks flying from his fingers, his pace sped up until his footsteps rang harshly against the marble. Shruikan closed his eyes and tried, as much as a dragon the size of a mountain ever could, to look small and inconspicuous.

Coming to a stop in front of the throne that he had claimed for himself so long ago, the King felt the anger slowly drain away as a slow smile spread across his face. His latest surprise for the Varden and its precious Rider would surely improve his temper. For, once Murtagh was back and the sapphire rider was under his control, there would no one and nothing that could stand between him and total control. The surprise he had planned especially for the Varden would work – he had planned this one specifically to work and he would be in control of it not some idiot Ra'zac or captain or overconfident Shade. Such cheerful thoughts made his smirk widen into a predatory smile. Soon the world would find out just why opposing him only led to death and loss.

Shruikan let off a puff of smoke as he heard these thoughts. Why, wondered the black dragon, was it so hard to find a moment's peace in this place?

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><p>The dreams woke him.<p>

The memory of Garrow's dead body in Horst's house, the sight of so many dead bodies upon the blood sodden ground of Farthen Dur and then, like a urgent warning, the face of Angela the herbalist, who whispered, "Beware Argetlam…" The dreams caught him one after another and sent him back through each memory of death of pain – something he had seen all too often these past months – until his mind suddenly lurched free of them. The image of one lingering before his mind like a grim warning.

_A battle was being fought around him and yet he was standing perfectly still, there was no noise or sensation just a frozen scene. The ground was black and sulfurous looking, the sky covered in iron-grey clouds. Men fought men and, around him, were the still bodies of the dead with their empty eyes staring upwards. The colors of the Varden and the Empire looked faded to his eyes, lost among the death and faded in the smoky air…_

He shook his head violently.

He was in Du Weldenvarden. Safe. Saphira was safe. But still he panted and he was covered in sweat. The sheets were twisted around him and the sky outside was still inky black. He closed his eyes in an effort to bring himself back under control, but all he saw was the mangled corpses of the villagers in Yazuac or the terribly still face of his Uncle. Eragon gripped the coverlet tightly and forced his breathing down, trying to control it and soothe himself a little.

Finally, still uneasy and his body still wound up as if ready to spar, the Rider rose silently from the bed. Saphira was still asleep; she was especially weary that night after a long training session with Glaedr which had left her exhausted and had, luckily, prevented her from feeling his dreams. Moving swiftly and with no need of a light, he hurried up to his small study where he sat down at the desk and looked out through the open portal to the dark forest. The stars were out in all their splendor and a thin sliver of moon sent its clear light down over the dark canopy of leaves. Fall was coming and, before the Celebration, he might have found the air chill but now he did not feel it. Just one more difference and one more thing that separated him from his mortal relations and friends…

He shook his head. It would not do to sound angry with the changes that he had gone through these past months and nor would it do to think of Roran's opinion of him. He could already guess what it would be and he had neither time nor the heart to spare to think of the anger his cousin would be feeling with him. He was grateful – he truly was and for the most part he never thought too hard about what he had lost through this change worked by the dragons.

The memory of his cousin, the childhood he treasured in his heart and mind, made him suddenly start. He may never be able to speak to his cousin again as brothers would, but he could keep an eye on him. Why had he not done this long ago? What had made him wait? He supposed that he had, in the intensity of these past weeks, little time for thinking too much of home or the spare energy to scry. However, with no chance of returning to his waking dreams, the young Rider wished to reassure himself that those he cared for – even if they did not still care for him – were well. He also wanted to assuage the guilt that had been roused in him at the sudden realization that he had forgotten his cousin.

Leaving the chair he stepped towards the scrying mirror hung on one wall. The oval mirror was polished and he could see his reflection perfectly in its reflective surface. Raising one hand he whispered the spell and watched the mirror shimmer and then show him the person he wished to see.

Roran. The face of his cousin flickering into view on the polished surface of the mirror.

But his cousin looked a far cry different then the person Eragon remembered, not only that but he seemed to be on a ship and, as he turned and began to walk down it, the faces of the other villagers who Eragon knew came into view. What was his cousin doing? Why was he on a ship and, most importantly of all, why did he look so haunted? There was a hard look to those once kind eyes and a set to that jaw which, while very much like Garrow, had a kind of determination that spoke of desperation not natural stubbornness. Eragon had grown practiced at reading people and judging them with the assistance of Zoe's teachings, and this was not the kind of man he remembered Roran being. The cousin he knew was neither cold nor able to consider a life beyond the small patch of land that they worked and only something drastic could have pulled him away.

Letting the image fade he quickly scryed Carvahall and felt his heart shatter as the image grew clear upon the smooth surface. There was no village. All that remained was a burnt pile of ashes and the vague outlines of houses.

It was gone.

His childhood home was destroyed and left for the elements to completely erase it. Eragon had no doubt that Galbatorix was behind it. He knew it was because of him that soldiers would have gone there, maybe even the Ra'zac, and brought destruction with them against the quiet, peaceful valley. Pain lanced through his heart as well as anger and despair. It was gone. Because of him the only home he had ever known was no more and, while he could never return there, it had been a sort of comfort to know it still existed. Now that comfort was gone and all that remained was anger – a promise for vengeance. It was just one more grievance and one more bitter pain that added up until he knew there was only one way to answer them.

With growing panic, Eragon scryed the only member of the Varden that he could think of who would not have wards set to prevent such spells. Arya he could not and neither could he scry Murtagh or Brom but Jormundur he could. The face of the man, sitting at table along with the Council of Elders, appeared on the mirror. Stacks of paper and forgotten mugs of tea littered the table and he was reassured when the second in command of the Varden asked Murtagh for some piece of paper that, according to his brother, Arya had.

Reassured a little that at least his friends with the Varden were still alright, Eragon let the magic fade. A growing feeling of urgency was replacing his anger. He had to go. The world had not stopped while he had been safely learning in Ellesmera. Instead the Varden were clearly preparing for battle and, if his dreams were any indication, that battle was coming soon. It would lead to another battle and another, of that he had no doubt.

It was time to leave, time to spread their wings and show the world what they had become in these few months. Maybe the journey would lead him back to his cousin and back to the revenge he had sworn against the King for the destruction the man had caused. With any luck it would take him down a path to where, at the end, he could finally find the peace that he could not have until the wars were fought and the blood spilled.

But first he had to find Zoe and he had to ask her if it was time. Moving on swift feet that were made urgent by the growing feeling of time growing short, he left Saphira sleeping and hurried towards Tildari Hall where he navigated the corridors to Zoe's room. She might be asleep, but they needed to speak of this now and prepare for this – there was no time left and she would understand that. Zoe who, he knew, had ridden to war before and who had lectured him on knowing when it was time to act and time to wait.

The corridors were desolate and abandoned in the silver moonlight. The air was still and he could feel the tension, the building pressure, as if the very things that bound this world together were stretching. It seemed to take so long; each step seemed to take an age and each moment trickled by. Time seemed so fickle now, one moment he had all the time in the world and the next it was speeding by and taking him down the path he had unknowingly chosen one night in a small house when a dragon hatched for him. Now it slowed again and he seemed to be fighting against it – against the air. It was heavy and thick, it was hard to push against it and keep walking. Everything seemed to screaming at him to go back and go to sleep.

At last, at long last, he reached the familiar door in the high ceilinged, open corridor. It was closed and for a moment he stared at it. What would happen when he knocked? He knew that each choice, no matter how small or insignificant at the time, led to something bigger and he knew that telling Zoe of his choice would lead to something big to. She had known this long before him, but he respected her for that and, even though he longed for the journey to be over, he was glad that both she had Oromis had not spoken of how close they were to the start of the end. He was glad that they had given him a little more time, if only so that he could be by Saphira and see her, safe and glowing, like she was now. But the moment was brief and his determination strong. He knocked softly and hoped that she was awake.

Zoe answered his quiet knock on the first try. She did not ask him what had sent him to her like this or what had put the fire in his eyes. There were no worried questions or any words spoken at all. She did not need to and there was a knowing glint to those clear grey eyes. Zoe, he knew, had only been waiting for him to tell her it was time and, for that, he was grateful in some strange way. The time had come and she knew that as well as he did. But it was good to be the one saying it – the one making the choice and not blindly following orders.

He was ready. The world was ready.

* * *

><p>He heard the news just as he was leaving the practice field after discreetly inspecting the soldiers preparing for battle and giving the commanding officer a few directives. His mood was dark, and it had not lifted since the events which had occurred three days before and cost Vivian her life. Murtagh had managed to contain it and hide it for the most part, but he knew that a few – namely Brom – saw through his brave front and worried for him. But his mood was swept away for the time being as a sweaty faced young messenger boy in the colors of Orrin's house suddenly came to a sliding stop before him just as he entered the welcome shade of the stone corridors.<p>

_"_My lord," said the panting boy his eyes were wide with excitement and he could barely get the words out. "My lord," he said again and then managed to bring himself together enough to say, "the elf lady has arrived and Lady Nasuada…"

But Murtagh did not wait. He was already moving through the busy corridors. Arya. Arya was back. He pushed his way past bowing servants and ignored the curious looks cast his way by nobles. Moving without being aware of it he found himself navigating the corridors and slipping through passages until he arrived, very nearly out of breath, before Nasuada's closed study door. For a second he stopped and felt his heart pounding as his mind, focused on what Arya might tell him, began to spin with the questions he had suppressed these past few months. He ignored the guards on both side and, briefly taking the time to smooth his face clear of his turbulent feelings, he flung the doors open and found himself looking straight at the pale, lovely face of Arya Svit-kona. He was distantly aware of Brom, Nasuada and Jormunder, but he had eyes only for her.

She hadn't changed at all.

But then again she was an elf. Her face was as he remembered it – devoid of any sign of age or weariness. Her perfection made her unreal to him. She was tall and elegant in her perfection and, while there were no scars or bent limbs to speak of the life she had lived, her eyes did. In those clear emerald depths he could see the years, marching on and on, mixing with the experience she had garnered. Memories swirled there along with power and a never ending determination.

Arya smiled and moved forward, embracing him as friends would and he returned the embrace. "Murtagh," she said as she stepped back and her eyes swept over him. No doubt she saw the weariness and sensed the pain he was hiding beneath his mask, but she did not comment. "It is good to see you again."

"And you," he said and then, unable to stop himself and dying to know the answer even as he dreaded it. "How is Zoe? Eragon? Saphira?" He did not really care about them, it was Zoe who mattered and Zoe who had filled his thoughts despite his best attempts these past months, but he did not wish to reveal so much before Nasuada and Jormundur.

Something flitted across Arya's face as if she was not sure how to answer or wary of the answer she was going to give. "Well," she said with what seemed a forced smile. "Eragon and Saphira have accomplished much in the short time they have been with my people. Zoe to," again a brief pause as if the elf was wary of her next words, "is well."

He was about to question it – force the elf to reveal more – when she sent him a quick warning glare that was missed by all in the room because the door opened once more to show Orrin accompanied by more of his advisors. In the flurry of greetings and formal words Murtagh was left forgotten and that was probably for the best. The brief interlude allowing him to gain control of his emotions so that he appeared just as cold and implacable as the reputation he had created for himself amongst Orrin's retinue said he was.

So Murtagh held his tongue and he saw that Brom to seem to be on the edge of voicing questions even as he spoke the familiar formulaic words. It was through sheer strength of will that Murtagh was able to endure the following few hours of talk between Orrin, Nasuada, and the various lords who all wished to speak with Arya and seek the elves position on the following campaign. So much needed to be said and, while Murtagh knew this, it did not ease his impatience for answers – for news. He had grown sick of talk of supplies, men, positioning and allies.

It was not until much later, when the stars were out and the castle quiet that he was able to get Arya to speak of what she had not spoken of. They were in Brom's room, already carefully spelled against eavesdroppers, and the three were all seated around a small table. A glowing weyr light hanging above them sent strange shadows across the faces of Brom, old and weary looking, Arya and Murtagh. A sliver of moon high above in the heavens sent a faint sparkle of moonlight down across the silent, dark city. The brutal heat of the day was fading down to the cool, refreshing temperature of evening.

"What," said Brom, "is actually happening?" His brows were drawn together and a fierce frown made him appear to be an identical carving of one of the gargoyles that decorated the sides of the castle.

Arya sighed and ran a slender hand across her face. Even elves have limits and her own patience had been taxed with the discussions she had held with Orrin and his advisors. She was also desperate to remove the sweat and grime that accumulated over the long journey to Aberon and, like she had in the brief rests she had taken, to think of the home and the friends she hoped to see again soon. "Too much," she said finally, "and they are not things I could speak of in front of either the Varden or Orrin." Murtagh held his tongue, sensing that Arya would not be pleased if he pestered her questions and gave her no time to tell the story.

"Do you know of the Blood Oath Celebration?" asked the elf suddenly her eyes on him.

For a second Murtagh did not know of what she spoke and was so surprised by the question he could not really respond. Until, remembering some old lesson from some stodgy old tutor, the name 'Blood Oath' and its meaning returned. Nodding his head he said in a clipped tone, "The bonding between Rider and dragon." His irritation with the situation was rising and he could only hope the elf responded quickly. He was in no mood for history lessons.

"Yes," she said and sent a quick glance towards Brom who was watching her intently. The old man looked tense and his eyes were burning with intensity. "The elves celebrate the bond created between the dragons every hundred years. Eragon, Saphira and Zoe were able to attend. I left the following morning." She paused and then continued quietly, "Old magic is awoken at the ceremony which goes for three days. At the end the spirit of the dragons is…" she seemed to struggle for words and Brom took over.

"I was there at the last one," said the old man and his eyes seemed lost in memories. "It is as if the memory of the dragons is truly alive Murtagh. It is not an illusion, but a real creature."

"What," asked Murtagh growing more annoyed by the minute, "does this have to do with Zoe?" He could not see what celebrations and almost extinct races had to do with the very simple he wanted an answer for.

"Because," said Arya, "two things happened when the dragon appeared. The first was he gave Zoe a task," the elf looked almost frightened and Murtagh felt worry grow within himself. "The dragon told her how to find the red dragon egg and how to retrieve it…"

"What?" demanded both Murtagh and Brom at the same time, the young man half-rising out of his chair.

Arya sent them both a glare and her voice rose an octave, "Listen to me." With that she explained not only Zoe's mission but the transformation Eragon had undergone. Her words were so soft that both Murtagh and Brom had lean forward to catch them. When at last she fell silent Murtagh was numbed by her words and Brom had rocked back in his chair, the old man appearing lost in deep thought.

"I do not know how Zoe's mission fared, but Eragon was well when I last spoke with him after the Celebration." Arya's voice sounded hollow, her words not soothing any of the tension that filled the air with charged energy.

"Why?" whispered Murtagh and then he felt a growing anger, an anger born out of fear and directed at the impossibly controlled, almost uncaring elf, who sat across from him. "Why didn't you go with her?" his voice trembled with emotion and, while it was low, it rang out with it.

"She wouldn't let me," whispered Arya who had the grace to drop her eyes to her hands that were folded on the table tightly. "I tried to convince her and I argued with her, but she would not be dissuaded. Zoe," the elf was silent for a moment, "knew what she had to do and no one would come between her and the end goal."

"You could have stayed!" hissed Murtagh with anger.

"I couldn't," said Arya and this time she met his gaze with her own cool green eyes that, while they were full of worry also contained an understanding that the young man found maddening. "I had to come here and already I had tarried too long in Du Weldenvarden out of worry for Eragon and my own wish to rest a little. The Varden needs me as it prepares for war and Nasuada needed to know my mother's plan of attack sooner rather than later." The elf paused and then continued, "Zoe would not here of me staying either."

Murtagh rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes tightly. He could imagine the words Zoe had spoken to Arya and he knew his anger was unjustified. He knew that Zoe did what she wanted and, as much as he wished otherwise, sometimes one had to act alone – just as he had these past few weeks. It was just one thing on top of another, the sheer magnitude of Zoe's mission mixed with the raw grief that still beat against his heart at the thought of Vivian. Murtagh had thought Zoe would be safe, but she had never been one to sit idly and he could only imagine all the reasons that had gone into her decision to steal the red dragon egg.

Brom's voice broke his reverie, "You did not tell Nasuada." Murtagh opened his eyes and saw the old man looking at Arya with a calculating, almost amused, expression. "You do not even plan to tell her of Eragon or of Zoe."

"No," said the elf and she looked towards the window. "Eragon and Saphira must tell her of the changes they have experienced – if they wish to. As for Zoe," the elf glanced at Murtagh briefly, "what would be the point in giving hope if Zoe does not succeed?"

"True," said Brom and he looked weary once more, the intensity leaving his face and, suddenly, he looked like a father who was worried about his child. This, thought Murtagh, was perfectly understandable.

"What," asked Arya then, "has happened here?" Her green eyes flickered between the weary Brom and Murtagh who, to her keen elf eyes, looked both exhausted and deeply troubled and that was before she had told him news of Zoe and his half-brother. Something, far more than the rigors of managing an army, a war leader, a King and his court had occurred during the time she had been away. She had heard, during the meetings that day that Murtagh had earned a place of honor and respect as a spy master in both the Varden and Orrin's court. But she had not heard how he had done it or how the entire network of the Black Hand in Surda had been decimated.

"Another night Arya," said Murtagh sharply as he did his best to ignore the images of Vivian, the dark house and the many disguises he had worn these past days. Worry clawed at his throat and he felt as everything around him was crumbling, the few things that had given him comfort these past weeks suddenly ripped away.

"Another night," agreed Brom looking as if reliving the past few weeks was just as difficult for him as it was for Murtagh.

"Hopefully there will be another night," said Arya darkly and all three fell silent as they automatically looked out the window. Outside the darkness seemed heavier and night even darker. The stars too far away to give any comfort.

* * *

><p><strong>Revised 26/2014**

**Enjoy!**


	58. Chapter 59

It is so strange what packing does to one's mind.

Packing up everything that you own into a rucksack and saying farewell to the place you have called home base for the past few months is both oddly satisfying and emotional. It triggers all sorts of nostalgic feelings, worry and anticipation. Drawing on those trusted traveling boots, carefully packing the books you couldn't bear to leave behind and making sure every buckle has been closed and every strap fastened. Saying good-bye to various friends from the ones you don't quite think of friends to the ones you would be sorry not see again was just as strange as packing. Somehow I did not think I would ever see Du Weldenvarden again and I wondered what ambassador would take my place. What person would live in these rooms, attend those councils and fill my shoes? I did not doubt that, despite everything that might happen, I would never again open the door to my apartments.

When it was all packed and my goodbyes said, I stood waiting on the Craigs of Tel'naeir. I wasn't exactly sad to be leaving but sad to be leaving the peace and quiet of this place. I would miss this place and the few friends I had made her, but at the same time I was anxious to set off once more. There was a home calling my name, a family I longed to be part of once more and things I needed to accomplish.

Eragon and I had spoken of our destination: the Burning Plains. He had asked me if I knew where the Varden was and I had informed him of the rapidly approaching battle. It had not been the greatest topic of conversation, but we were already on the subject of grim, depressing topics and it only, apparently, confirmed a dream of his that had woken him that night and spurred him to scry the Varden.

I shook my head and folded my arms tightly across my chest. The weight of my sword and bow gave me comfort as I thought of the brutal battle looming darkly across the future. But here, on this open bit of cliff, the world was still bright. The sun was shining down and the sky was a crystal clear blue. Emerald green trees, some just starting to turn gold, spread out and a faint fall breeze stirred my recently braided hair.

I would miss this view the most out of everything in this forest. I would miss the evenings spent sorting through my life and arguing my opinions with Oromis. It was here that I truly been able to remember and once more able to put a time line of my together. Looking out over the forest with two friends had given me a sense of space, of time, and eased the constant pressure of my burden. It was here, speaking to Oromis and Glaedr, that Zoe of Angard and Llyr had had a chance to spread her wings once more.

I had come here before Eragon so as to give Oromis and Glaedr some forewarning. They already knew, somehow they did and I did not ask how, but they did seem to approve. Already we had discussed my duty with the egg and how best to reveal it to the Varden. There had also been a reiteration of the promise I had sworn when I had first met Oromis: to watch and guard Eragon and Saphira to the best of my abilities. Who knew what awaited us in this coming battle or what nasty surprise Galbatorix had in wait. So I swore that promise with all my heart and, now, I waited silently with Glaedr to my right and Oromis sitting down at the entrance to his small cottage.

The steady thump of Saphira's wings was the first warning of her approach and, then, she swooped down out of the sky as brilliant as a sapphire held to the sun. I glanced up towards the sky, wincing at the bright sunlight, as she dived down. I could sense Glaedr's worry for her, the elder dragon would have liked nothing more to fly by her side and ensure the safety of the last female dragon in all of Algaesia just as his Rider wanted nothing more to watch her Rider. But they could not and, so, that duty now fell to me. Oh joy.

Eragon looked determined as he jumped from Saphira's side to land lightly on the soft grass. His eyes glanced at me and then he politely greeted his instructors just as Saphira did. Eragon did not looked rushed or nervous as he straightened up from his slight bow, and a part of me was proud to see how much he had grown and learned to control himself. Another part of me was, however, thinking that it was such a shame that his young life might just be cut tragically short.

_You are leaving for the Varden? _asked Glaedr. The question was unneeded. It was, instead, just a kind of test put forward by the dragon who wanted to make sure that his students were ready. Not that you really can be totally ready. This is war. No one is ever ready.

"Yes," echoed Eragon and Saphira.

Gently, his eyes kind, Oromis said, "The world demands your attention."

"It does," said Eragon and his eyes flickered with worry even as he set his jaw. "I fear I have lingered too long."

"No," I said firmly, "you needed every moment here both of you." Eragon glanced at me and I could see he was ready to speak – to say something sharp no doubt – but Oromis never gave him the chance.

"Before you go, I ask but one thing: that you and Saphira vow that – once events permit – you will return here to complete your training."

_We shall return, _pledged Saphira, binding herself in the Ancient Language.

"We shall return," repeated Eragon, and sealed their fate.

If you want to look at it in a less dramatic fashion then they merely ensured that sometime soon they would once more stand on this piece of ground with this sweeping vista sweeping out behind them. That is how I look at it. War is no place for dramatics nor is this story – there is enough drama as it is and enough talk of fates.

Oromis relaxed a little in his chair but he was not done. Reaching behind the simply carved piece of furniture, the elder elf produced an embroidered red pouch that he tugged open. "In anticipation of your departure, I gathered together three gifts for you, Eragon." From the pouch came a small silver flask that glinted brightly in the morning sunlight. "First some faelnirv, though only enough for a few mouthfuls. Use it sparingly."

He handed the bottle to Eragon, and then removed a long black-and-blue sword belt from the pouch to reveal that special belt long treasured by the Riders that, somehow, Oromis had saved from the flames of the Fall. I watched with amusement as Eragon pulled the tassel at the end of the embroidered belt to expose the priceless diamonds within. They caught the light and flashed, the sight of them making me remember a similar belt that my father had once worn and now my brother used.

"Master…" said Eragon and the young Rider tried to push it back into his teacher's hands. "I cannot take this." His eyes were worried, almost panicked at the idea of wearing such a priceless treasure of the Riders and carrying it through blood and fire where anything might happen to it.

"Guard it well," said Oromis and his eyes where firm when he met Eragon's worried ones. "It was the belt of Beloth the Wise and is a great treasure of the Riders." Then with a small smile, "I trust you with it." His words seemed to reassure Eragon enough for him to reluctantly accept the gift, though not enough to ease the worry on his face.

Then, at last, Oromis brought out a thin scroll protected inside a wooden tube that was decorated with a bas-relief sculpute of the Menoa Tree. It was the scroll that I watched Oromis spend the evenings working on as we talked, a beautiful rendition of the poem Eragon had recited at the Agaeti Blodhren. Plants and animals twined together inside the outline of the first glyph of each quatrain, while delicate scrollwork traced the columns of words and framed the images. Eragon looked lost for words, his eyes filled both with wonder and deep gratitude as he looked up at his teacher.

"I thought you would want a copy," said Oromis.

"I…" said Eragon and then, in a voice choked with emotion, "thank you, master."

_Yes, _said Saphira. _Thank you. _

So much was contained with those simple words. You can't always sum everything up in two words – it's impossible – but you can give people a pretty fair idea of just what you are trying to say but not quite able to. Thank you. In its simplicity lies its greatest strength.

The elder elf just nodded in approval. What could be taught in the short time had been taught and neither students nor teachers had anything left to say at this meeting. There would be things to speak of when they next met but, until then, they could only nod and say their farewells. I could only do the same.

Oromis turned to me and his gaze, deep and watchful, meeting my own eyes. "Zoe," he said and a faint smile curled his lips, "I have something for you."

I stepped forward and the elder Rider drew out a package wrapped in brown paper. I took it from him and the paper crinkled in that oddly pleasing way beneath my fingers as I carefully pulled it away from the object it protected. My fingers paused as the gift came into view before me and I felt a wide smile grow across my face.

It was a book. A journal to be exact and, when I opened the cover, I saw creamy white pages that seemed so inviting – as if begging me to write upon them that very instant. The cover was simple dark leather, soft and supple but also providing protection to the pages. Two leather ties provided a way to securely close it. Magic had clearly been used to join the white pages to it and, in flowing gold script on the inside, there was the lines: _So that you never forget the time you spent under the dusky pines. _

I felt tears blur my eyes and then, somehow clinging to the journal and with tears making it nearly impossible to see, I flung my arms around the elf and buried my face in his soft tunic. Oromis didn't seem to know what to do. Comforting girls was not a skill that many Riders had to practice and the elf didn't seem to know what to do. After a moment's hesitation he wrapped his arms around me and said quietly in my ear, "I will see you again."

"Perhaps," I said drawing away enough to look up into his silver eyes. "Perhaps you will, but I shall never forget." I looked to Glaedr and the elder dragon gave an amused chuckle, shaking the ground with the vibrations.

_We will see you again, _said the dragon and there was a gleam of determination in those bright gold orbs that spoke of a dragon committed to something. It brought a shaky smile to my lips.

"You must go," said Oromis and I stepped away. Once more gaining control of my emotions I nodded. Eragon looked at his teacher with those worried but determined eyes. Saphira just looked on quietly, her blue eyes fixed on Glaedr as if memorizing one last time what another living dragon looked like.

"Yes," I said quietly and Eragon nodded. I carefully placed the journal in my bag which I then strapped to Saphira's saddle. With one last quick embrace of both Oromis and Glaedr I mounted Saphira along with Eragon. I tried to tell myself it was the wind as Saphira took off that made tears glaze my eyes. I tried to tell myself that there was really no reason I couldn't take my eyes off the two distant figures until they were long out of sight. But I wasn't quite ready to face the truth and, sometimes, it is easier to think something that isn't true then face the depths that are the truth.

Safely tucked in my rucksack, in a special padded bag enchanted to safeguard it as much as was possible, was the red dragon egg that Glaedr had entrusted to me. I tried not to think about that too much. I was trying to think only about the rush of air that whipped my braid up and was - I am sure - the cause of all these tears that dried even as they fell.

But you know me well. You just smile at me and look understanding. I tell you: it is just the wind. Only the wind whipping around me that is making me cry and not anything else.

_Goodbye…_whispered a voice in my mind. _For now. _

I think I heard the sound of a dragon growling in agreement in my mind. But that could just have been my imagination.

Imagination is a wonderful thing isn't it?

* * *

><p>Islanzardi was waiting for us.<p>

The Queen and her retinue stood before the entrance to Tildari Hall. The fair elf Queen looked regal with the morning sunlight falling across her pale face and making the silver circlet upon her brow glitter. Her pale blue dress caught the light and shimmered like the surface of a pool of water. The elf lords and ladies behind – many of who I knew –were just as fair in the clear sunlight. Their ageless immortality was like bright everlasting jewels. A few elves had gathered around the edges of the clearing and many more were looking out from the tree tops. This was a public good-bye even though the space gave the illusion of privacy.

"Rider Eragon," said Islanzardi as Saphira landed and we dismounted. "Saphira. Zoe." Her words rang in the silence that had descended upon the place as the vibrations from Saphira's wing beats faded away. "Oromis has told me of your decision to leave." She was neither outright approving of this decision nor disapproving, maintaining her usual position of cool watchfulness.

"Yes," said Eragon simply. He met her eyes without hesitation.

"When you reach the Varden," said Islanzardi her gaze turning to me, "please deliver this missive to Lady Nasuada. It details our own plans for the coming weeks." I stepped forward and accepted the scroll that Lord Balthraz - a silver haired elf lord who I had spent many hours in council with – had drawn out of his robes. Slipping the scroll into an inner pocket where it would, hopefully, be safe.

"Also," said the Queen, "I will send some of our strongest spell weavers to assist you Eragon, Saphira, in the coming battles. They will not reach you in time for the battle brewing now but, hopefully, they will be able to reach you soon after and will place themselves under your command."

"Thank you," said Eragon and Saphira together.

The Queen nodded and then, stretching out one pale arm towards one of the ladies, she said. "It seems only right that now that you share our strength that you also bear one of our bows. This one I created myself from a yew tree. I hope it serves you well."

The lady stepped forward. There was a wooden box in her arms and, versed in the moment, she opened it and presented it to Eragon. Within, on soft folds of velvet, was a slender bow. It was simple, but in that simplicity was its beauty. Silver fittings chased with dogwood leaves decorated the tips and grip. Beside it lay a quiver of new arrows fetched with swan wood seemed to glow with warmth and I watched, with a faint smile, as Eragon's face lit up and his mouth fell open a little. One hand ghosted along the top of the bow as if afraid to touch it.

"You honor me," he said looking up and meeting the intense stare of the Queen, "with a gift such as this. I thank you for all you and your house has done for Saphira and me."

The Queen just nodded and yet she seemed pleased with Eragon's words and the way he met her gaze without flinching away. Turning to Saphira, the elf Queen said, "I could think of nothing to give you Saphira and so I brought no gift for you. But ask and, if it is in my power, I will give it to you."

_I need nothing, _said the dragon, _what need have I for treasure? I am a dragon and I have no need for possessions. No, I am content with the kindness you have shown Eragon. _

"We merely repaid a little of what was owed for our miserable failure in the Fall," said the Queen. "You will always be welcome in Ellesmera as friends of my house."

Then her gaze came to me and the elf Queen said, "I would speak to you alone Zoe." Following her a little ways away from the gathered elves, Eragon and Saphira, the elf Queen turned to look at me.

"When you arrive in Surda," said the Queen and her eyes, old and deep, never left my own. "Please give this to Arya," she drew another scroll from within her robes, "and tell her she is sorely missed here."

"Of course," I said and did not comment on the open worry I saw written in the fair face of the proud Queen though she clearly tried to hide it. She was a mother and, despite past wrongs, it was her duty as a mother to worry especially when it was her child going to the front lines of battle.

"I also wish to thank you," said the Queen and her voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible. "Not just for the things you have done here, but the things that you did before and the things you will do." She looked, briefly, unguarded and I knew that her expression of gratitude was as genuine. "You, Zoe, I count as both a friend and ally to my house."

"It was and is both my pleasure and my duty," I said and, while the words were formal, my voice was warm. Well I knew the struggles of leadership and I had come to an understanding with this Queen – she knew what I was and I knew what she was. We understood.

The Queen nodded and then we both returned to the group. Eragon was looking at me with curiosity but I refused to respond to either his or Saphira's questioning tendrils of thought. That had been a meeting queen to queen, ally to ally and it was not something I could just share. Islanzardi turned to me once more – all eyes upon us – and, where before there had been nothing, there was a small velvet bag in her hand. "This," she said, "is my gift to you Zoe."

The Queen opened the small pouch and dropped, into my open palm, a ring. It was simple band of silver set with one large emerald that glinted in the sunlight. Etched into the silver was the same mark that was on Aren, the ring worn by Brom. It was, I knew, a sign that I was a favored friend of elves and as symbolic an act as the Queen could have done.

"Many thanks," I said formally as I slipped the ring onto my finger and, briefly, admired the way the jewel caught the light and flashed. My movements purposefully slow, I pulled the other ring that Nasuada had given me in Farthen Dur, off and dropped it into the Queen's waiting hand. I would wear the one she gave me and the other, while I had worn it for many weeks now, had to wait for another ambassador. The elf nodded her head and closed her hand over the sapphire ring I had returned to her.

For a second our eyes locked and, for a single second, we looked at each other as complete equals. But it was only a second and that, while meaningful, is hardly long enough in the great scheme of things.

"Go now," said the Queen raising her pale hand.

And so we did.

Saphira took us high into the blue dome of the sky and the only sound was the rushing wind buffeting our ears. We left some things behind but the things we gained – the important things – were not anything that you could forget to pack and then remember with horror later. They were inside of us and they gave all three of us comfort as Saphira turned her wings towards Surda and the Burning Plains of Alagaesia.

We spoke of many things during the long flight over Du Weldenvarden, carried along by a brisk tail wind. We quickly abandoned our game of riddles for Saphira won every single round and I quickly grew discouraged. The endless, shapeless green carpet of the forest swept out around us and Saphira flew so high that we were above the few clouds that floated around on this bright sunny day. Eragon protected all of us from the artic temperatures with a spell for, as Glaedr had taught Saphira, the swiftest tail winds were often far above the ground and that meant flying just a little higher than normal.

At some point, to my utmost surprise, Saphira asked me uestion that, for a brief moment, startled me. _What_ _is your happiest moment Zoe? _

_I do not know, _I said with a small laugh. _There are only a few moments in my life when I have been blissfully, completely happy with no shadow of doubt or worry. What about you? _

Eragon responded, _When I first flew with you Saphira. _

_The time you were green with fear? _I asked teasingly.

_But what is yours? _Asked Saphira persistently.

I was silent. There were a few moments where I had been so happy that I had felt nothing and no one would ever bring me down off such a high. They were bright moments of complete happiness that made me smile just to think of them. There were many moments of contentment, every-day kind of happiness which helped to offset the darkness of the world, but few were those brilliant bubbles of joy moments that made you feel so light you might just fly away. The moments when you let go of yesterday and feel nothing but lightness.

_I think, _I said, _when I first rode a horse out across a field. When I felt as if the entire world was stretching out before me and my horse seemed to be running as fast as the wind. I had never gone so fast and I seemed to leave everything behind...I felt as if I could be anyone and the freedom was...intoxicating. I think that would be one of my happiest moments. _

The memory of that gallop stuck in my mind and made me glad that, waiting for me at the end of the flight, would be my little grey mare, Melynlas. Murtagh had, hopefully, been able to watch over her and my fingers itched to once more wrap around coarse mane and let her fly beneath me.

I looked down at the forest and remembered the arch that Glaedr had taken me to. What other secrets were hidden in this forest? I had the feeling that not even the oldest of elves could ever truly say they knew every secret hidden here, magic ran deep in this place and not just the magic of this world, but traces of different, foreign power that reminded me of my own. Such questions helped fill the long hours for, even by dragon back, this was no short journey.

We left Du Weldenvarden behind by evening and camped just on the outskirts of the Hadarac desert. The weather was mild here, but the plants were still lush and the air was not the bone drying heat of the desert. The second night we had cleared the massive expanse of blinding sun white sand – I got a sunburned nose that day. We camped that night in a young grove of aspen that shivered and danced in the breeze. The place felt young, peaceful and innocent. Conversations that night were relaxed and there seemed no hint of danger or worry to the air.

Saphira flew through the following day and night, stopping only at dawn to drink and to allow us a moment to stretch. Breakfast was a tense affair; all three of us knew that we were nearly at our destination and it made us tight-lipped and thoughts of Murtagh, Brom, the army and the egg spun around my mind.

We had been flying for less than hour when a long, low brown cloud appeared on the edge of the horizon, like a smudge of ink on a sheet of paper. The cloud grew wider and wider as Saphira approached it, until by late morning it obscured the entire land benath a pall of foul vapors.

We had arrived at the Burning Plains of Alagaesia.

Yippeeee.

Sarcasm is intended.

* * *

><p>Murtagh left the hurriedly pitched tents of the Varden.<p>

They had arrived late in the night and the battle camp was a jumble of tents and flags that lost any brightness against the dark sky. Men hurried around following orders and looked, with open fear in their eyes, towards the Empire that had amassed a few miles away. The camp of the Varden was entrenched behind multiple layers of defense, the Jiet River flowed along one side and the water was dark as if echoing the red-black sky.

Murtagh felt a sick feeling growing within him. Getting here had been both an exercise in packing and in controlling his temper as he watched the armies of Surda and the Varden finally get on the road. It had been difficult, despite the hours of preparation, to organize everyone and everything. Once they had been moving, Murtagh felt his irritation and annoyance be replaced by worry as he considered what lay before them – what Vivian had told him and his own spies had recently confirmed. His brother and Saphira needed to return soon. They needed them.

Would Zoe come back with Eragon and Saphira, wondered Murtagh. But, just as quickly, a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that she just might not. She might never return if her mission to secure one of the most prized items in all of Alagaesia had gone wrong. Zoe might, even now, be caught and suffering in the King's prisons. The thought made Murtagh growl and he raised his hooded head to look around.

Pale bars of sunlight occasionally managed to find a way through the besmirched sky, like pillars of translucent glass, until they were cut off by the shifting clouds. The air was hot and heavy. The ground was hot and, in places, there were open holes that let foul smelling smoke up into the sky. It was the most depressing landscape he had ever set eyes on and, as much as he liked being on the move again, he wished this battle could have been fought somewhere else. This place echoed battle too much – from the red of the sky that reminded him of drying blood to the cracked, hot ground that seemed all too willing to give way beneath his feet.

Murtagh had come to a stop before the slow moving river. The faint sound of running water was only slightly comforting and he sat down, hard, on a rock to gaze out over the river and away from the two waiting armies. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared out at the water and his mind wandered, as it often did, to the girl he so wanted to see again and the complicated feelings he felt for her. His encounters with Vivian had only made it all more confusing and just that much more present in his mind. Did he love her? Did she love him? Or was this just childish infatuation that would fade over time? So lost was he in his thoughts that he did not realize he was not alone.

"What are you thinking?" came a familiar, gruff voice from behind him. "That is a serious frown."

Murtagh spun, one hand flying to his sword, as he whipped around to see the familiar face of Brom. The man looked weary and, yet, there was a faint smile on his face that eased the wrinkles and, even more unusual, a faint twinkle in his eyes. "Thinking," was Murtagh's quick reply as Brom took a seat beside him on another rock.

The old man raised an eyebrow as if to say: That was obvious. Looking away, he was silent for a long moment before he voiced a question which left Murtagh reeling in surprise and shock. "Do you love her?"

He opened his mouth to respond but closed it without saying anything. He knew who Brom spoke of and the question was both shocking and painful. He was suddenly conscious of the beating of his heart. It was hammering in his chest, as if he had just run a great distance without stopping. He almost forgot how to answer, almost afraid to even consider the question and the terrible possibility that he would never see her again.

"Do you love her?" persisted the man.

Murtagh looked at the old man. There was a time he could have answered that question in a second…but things had changed. He had changed and his feelings were…confused. No longer was he set against love and solely devoted to protecting himself and his freedom. But, even then, part of him warned him that his heart was being foolish and the girl who haunted his thoughts might very well be dead or worse.

"Well?" asked Brom.

"Yes…no…I don't know." He looked away and focused on the endlessly changing water.

"Ah…" said the old man who rested a hand lightly on the young man's tense shoulder in an almost fatherly gesture of understanding. "In my experience, when people say they don't whether they love someone, they usually mean yes." Brom met his gaze and asked gently, "Would you give your life for her?"

"Of course."

"What would you do to rescue her?"

"Anything," he said quickly.

"Then you love her," said Brom with a sad smile. Was he remembering Murtagh's mother right then? The young man wondered. Brom rose then and left. He left without saying anything more, leaving Murtagh to his shifting thoughts by the river.

Murtagh had never really believed in wishing. But, sitting there alone, he threw a wish towards the dark sky and, after a few more minutes of quiet sitting, he left for the many tasks that he had immersed himself in to try and keep his mind occupied. Part of him scoffed at the idea of wishes but another part of him was ready to try anything.

He would remember that moment for the rest of his life. He would remember the messenger that came running into the captain's tent where he was holding a meeting between a few of his spies before he dispatched them to various corners of the Empire. He would remember the boy's wild eyes as he told Murtagh that the Rider and dragon were back and that, along with them, was the girl with the silver sword. He thought he knew how to move fast and how emotions can overwhelm you. He thought he knew what he would say to her when he entered Nasuada's commander's tent and saw her standing there. He thought he did. Murtagh had long prided himself on always being in control, on being reasonable, but he found that, in this moment, he had no words that could describe his relief or his fear of cool rejection.

Maybe, he decided in those split moments when their eyes met and the entire world fell away...maybe wishes did come true.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Okay - this is pretty quick for me to update and I can't promise this kind of speed on every chapter but I really do want to get this story wrapped up. So I found some time (yay!) and got a chapter whipped off. It is shorter then usual, but I hope that a quicker update makes up for that. <em>**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Guest: Thank you! It is another chapter! :) hope you enjoy it..._**

**_chris: Thank you :) you're reviews are awesome and I am glad that you love this story so much. And I do hope all goes well with your stories...I am sure that all that hard work will pay off and you will be able to enjoy the rewards :) and, as for Zoe's world, it will make an appearance soon! I promise! I just have to find the right moment to work it in. You never know about who might show up :) Once more: thank you! All your support has been awesome and I wish you all the best with your stories!_**

**_Guest: Yes! another update! Enjoy!_**

**_wasseckb79: Yes she is an original character...kind of created from my own imagination after I combined story lines from some of my favorite novels. I have mixed together stories of her homeland and I hope to include more as the story continues. :) thank you for the review! _**

**_Abraxus7RON: I am glad that you love this story :) it is the best thing ever to know that other people enjoy it just as much as I enjoy writing it. I also agree that she has become more complex - but that is what practice does for an author :) thank you again and I hope you enjoy this chapter to!_**

**_live laugh play music: haha awesome is such an 'awesome' word! lol ;) glad you like the Galby scene and I hope you enjoy this chapter to...the battle is approaching... _**


	59. Chapter 60

There it is.

You have been warned. Announcements of this battle have been flying through the land and you heard them – it has been coming for a long, long time. These two armies are there now, stretched out before you. There are numerous tents, dark against the ground and men move among them as captains shout orders above the whinnying of horses, the creaking of wagons and the sounds of hammers. There are flags announcing which side is which flying high against the reddish sky. They hang limply in the quiet air without a wind to stir them and make them snap. The ground is cracked as if it is has been baked, fissures in the ground release noxious fumes into the air.

But battle hasn't started yet. Not just yet.

The entire world seems to know of it. Men have been taken from their homes where they leave behind weeping wives and wide-eyed children. Magicians have studied their books and honed their skills as much as they can in preparation of this fight. Swords have been forged, spears sharpened and shields tested. The ground, hot and cracked, will become saturated with blood and the sluggish moving river will change color until it is rusty and not because it is reflecting the sky.

You are here.

Your curiosity got the better of you, as curiosity often does. You stand in the little light that filters through the black clouds. You feel chilled in this place. The air is heavy, the faint breeze doing little to cool your hot skin even as you shiver, not with fear, but with a terrible sense of foreboding. Something drew you to this place, the warnings and the fear not affecting you.

The empty stretch of land between the two camps is abandoned and empty. Already you can smell the sharp tang of fresh blood even though none has been spilled yet. Part of you, though you have never been in a battle like this before, already knows what to expect. The soldiers you are standing with are growing restless from waiting, a sea of shuffling feet, murmuring about what awaits them in the next few hours. A horse whinnies. Someone curses. You do not say anything, you just stare straight ahead. You are invisible, not really here, but too real not to feel everything. The world is real to you, but you are not real to anyone around you. You try to ignore this, it makes you feel strange like an illusion on a hot summer's day.

The battle is coming.

You know this. But still you came. You wonder why. You know what is going to happen and still you came. You can't save the men who will die, you know your limitations and how, while it is one thing to repair a broken vase, it is another to fix a broken, living body.

Maybe, whispers a voice, you came because you didn't have a choice.

* * *

><p>Meeting Brom had been emotional. At the rate I am going you will forever label me as a blubbering, romantic git. But, as we touched down on the cracked ground, he was waiting there - along with a crowd of awed soldiers for many of which Eragon and Saphira were whispered legends. He had looked exactly like the last time we had last met him, his eyes tired, his face lined with wrinkles, and a familiar frown on his face. Good ol'Brom who, once you got beneath that crusty exterior, was as loyal and loving as possible. The man who had helped me, tested me,<p>

While Brom had roughly embraced me and had looked with worried, but knowing eyes at the satchel at my side, it was not nearly as emotional as the meeting between father and son. Brom was a good friend, like Oromis was. Our meeting was normal – emotional in all the ways one would expect. I still felt like a blubbering git as I angrily swiped tears from my eyes.

For Eragon though, the meeting between him and Brom was the first encounter between a father who had said good-bye to a son that had once looked one way and now looked completely different. In Brom's dark eyes there were equal parts of tremendous pride and a kind of sadness to see his son so changed. Parents mourn the loss of the children we once were, but Brom had lost more than just the young, eager Eragon in these past months. He had lost the face he had always put to his son, a face that held both traces of Selena and him. It must hurt, even if the man tried to tell himself that it didn't.

Saphira and I watched, the two embrace tightly and speak softly to each other. _It is good to see them together, _said the dragon with a warm rush of happiness.

_Yes, _I looked up at the glittering blue eyes, _even more remarkable is that they have this chance. Brom denied it for so long. _

Then it was off to the command tent for a meeting with Nasuada. We attracted a growing number of soldiers, all of whom seemed torn between shouting out "Shade-slayer" and "Flame-tongue" or just stay respectfully silent. There was a mix. Some cheered wildly and some merely gazed with awed eyes at the sparkling blue dragon and her Rider as if, by seeing them, they felt some hope restored. Moving along in the shadow of Saphira, I tried to escape notice and, in the flurry of activity around us, I think I was mostly successful.

Our trip ended near the back of the Varden, at a large red pavilion flying a pennant embroidered with a black shield and two parallel swords slanting underneath. I had seen it fly in Farthen Dur and now I saw it again. We entered, ignoring the stationary guards that stood like blank-faced statues on either side.

If Nasuada was the sort to scream in joy and surprise she might have when she turned and realized who had entered her tent. Her almond eyes had gone as wide as saucers, her mouth opened in surprise and she had gripped the edge of a table so tightly her knuckles went white.

She was, as was to be expected, both enormously grateful to see us and stunned by Eragon's changed appearance. She even seem stunned by me and, as I prepared to tell her of the egg currently at my side, Arya had arrived and another round of greetings begun. For, of course, Arya did not know I had succeeded and her eyes widened almost comically when she saw the satchel and guessed what was inside it. The elf's wide eyes made me smile and Saphira, who had stuck her head in to be a part of the conversations within the tent, had openly chuckled.

But, even happy as I was to see these old friends, there was one missing. WHERE WAS HE? I almost turned to Brom to ask, but Eragon got there before me and Nasuada answered. He was, according to her, just being summoned and would be here directly. No doubt word of our arrival had already reached him.

I had to wait, hoping that no one saw the tension or the nervous anticipation that I must have been radiating. It made me irritated that I felt embarrassed about these feelings, but I did. It like knowing you could ask a question (and should), but not wanting to lest you be laughed at or given a condescending smile by some know-it-all teacher.

I knew he was coming far before I saw him step through the tent flap. It was like knowing that a storm was coming, the shift in the air around it. I could sense it, without reaching with my mind, and the closer he came the stronger the feeling was.

Then, so suddenly I just had time to turn around, the flap of the commanders tent was brushed open and there he was.

Somehow I had not really expected to see him.

I had half expected for Brom to tell me he had been captured, that somehow Murtagh would be gone and everything that had happened that day in Farthen Dur was for naught. Somehow I had not expected him to look, not at Eragon or Saphira, but straight to me as if I was the most important thing in the room. I had not expected to see the storm of emotions I saw in his dark eyes: deep relief, joy, apprehension, fear and, most surprising of all, stunned surprise as if he had not expected me to look like I did. He probably hadn't. I had changed and I had only to look in a mirror to see the fullness of that change.

"Murtagh," I said and the words seemed strange in the air and my voice unnaturally high. No one else existed at that moment, the world was our own and we were the only living things.

"Zoe," he said and his eyes, so dark and intense, met mine. They froze me in place and I was suddenly aware of the heat emanating up from the ground. I was aware of how soft the elvish cloak I wore was and how the dim light reflected off the polished pommel of Murtagh's blade. Everything seemed unnaturally _real _as if I had been living in an illusion and, only now, were my eyes opened.

It happened so fast.

Suddenly he was embracing me so tightly that I could barely breathe and I buried my face in his leather jerkin. It didn't matter that the world was about to end or that there was a dragon egg at my hip. None of it mattered. You didn't matter and neither did the King. It didn't matter that everyone was there and that I would never be allowed to forget this for the next million years. I stood defiant because I had decided I did not care about my rank, my duties or my flipping promises to follow the rules.

That was what I was thinking when we kissed. Because, for the first time in my long life, I did something that was reckless and went against all the rules, all the expectations and promises – I was done. I wanted Murtagh and he wanted me. It didn't matter that I was a girl from another world with two brothers who would be furious when they found out that I had fallen head over heels in love with this kind of boy. Careless talk costs lives and careless actions can spell the end of worlds, but I had forgotten that rule – that warning – about the time Murtagh stepped through that tent flap.

A single fight may have been lost, but the war might still been won. Take that fate.

When we broke apart I found myself looking into his eyes. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed and his face unnaturally pale. The dark shadows underneath his eyes looked like bruises. He ran one hand through my hair and I gripped his shoulders so tightly that my knuckles went white. My hands, pale and small, looked too weak to hold on to him through the storm that was raging around us.

"Hello," he said with a faint smile.

"You say that now?" I asked and my voice was shaky. I felt shaky, almost giddy – I hadn't felt giddy in YEARS. I buried my face in his tunic and, for the first time in a long time, I let myself indulge in the security that Murtagh's strong arms offered me. For the first time I pretended that I was just a girl and he was just a boy. That our relationship was not doomed and that in a few short hours we would not be dealing out death. I DIDN'T care that Nasuada, Eragon, Saphira, Brom and Arya were all staring at us with expressions ranging from shocked to an almost pleased smirk on Brom. I didn't care that; soon, many of the bright lives around us would fizzle out like sparklers and be lost.

"I missed you," whispered Murtagh in my hair. He was trembling and I wondered at it. Something more had happened while I had been gone and it was more than worry for me or worry I would have forgotten him. A shadow, deeper than the one that always covered his eyes, rested on his face now.

"Are you done?" asked Brom with a faint note of teasing in his voice. The older man was looking at us with amusement.

I turned my face slightly to glare at the old man, even as I did I never let go of Murtagh's hand. It was my anchor; it was a reassuring warmth that made the once terrifying world a little more bearable. "We can always take it outside," I said pointedly.

Brom laughed outright as did Saphira, the two finding my words endlessly amusing. Nasuada just looked like at us with open surprise and Eragon looked, to my amusement, a little embarrassed. Arya just looked at me with a faint glimmer of amusement in her green eyes, though there was something like regret there to. "Don't do that," said Brom with a wide smirk, "we wouldn't want the whole camp to know."

Murtagh and I both laughed at that though it faded quickly. Stepping into the awkward silence that descended on the tent Eragon said with a faint smile, "It's good to see you Murtagh."

"And you," said Murtagh from my side. "The elves have done much for you." There was no resemblance now, I thought sadly, between Selena's two sons. One was as fair as an elf and the other dark.

"Well," said Nasuada and there was something flustered to the way she tried to regain control of the situation. It made me smirk inwardly, she stilled showed her youth in so many situations where older, and more experienced heads would have just sailed onwards with nary a glance – heads like my eldest brother. "Well," she said again, "can I have a full account of your travels Zoe? Eragon? Saphira?" Her face took on a wondering expression as she looked over the three of us, "What has happened to you?"

She returned to her throne-like chair, as if she wished us to try and return to more familiar footing where she was just another battle leader and we were just allies conversing on battle plans, but that was impossible. Because, holding my hand as if he could never imagine letting go, was Murtagh and I could never feel like I was a common soldier or a princess or an ambassador with him by my side. I was someone who I didn't know and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. My feet now moved along an unfamiliar path.

Saphira, bless her, took it upon herself to explain the twisted path that we had flown, walked, run and struggled down these past few months. Eragon joined in at points, but I remained silent for I had done little in Du Weldenvarden but smile sweetly and do my best to defend the interest of the Varden in council meetings where, to my annoyance, I had sworn not to speak specifically of the things discussed. Nasuada need not know that and worry that I had betrayed her trust as a foreign representative. She already seemed overwhelmed, maybe even hurt, by the revelation that Murtagh and I were more than good friends. Besides, I had been a bloody good ambassador and I did not want that questioned.

When Rider and dragon came to the end of the Blood Oath Celebration and had completed their relatively brief summary of not only their experiences, but new skills and the changes they had undergone, Eragon turned to me. Of course he did. He had to and, now, it was my turn to explain my own time.

I was brief on my time in Du Weldenvarden – maybe too brief for Nasuada's tastes. I delivered Islanzardi's missive and did my best to condense everything into neat paragraphs. It was only the last few weeks which had been exciting for me and, after a deep breath, I explained about the egg and the mission given to me by the spectral dragon. Hearing of his old home and the small role he had played by giving me the key had made Murtagh's grip on my hand increase until it nearly hurt. Nasuada's face went from impassive to shocked to horrified and, like a cloud been drawn away from the surface of the sun, to radiantly hopeful.

"It is here?" she whispered and her entire body was rigid as she leaned forward. Her eyes had lost the wearied glint and now burned with intensity. She had forgotten that Eragon, Saphira and I had left so many holes in our story of Du Wlednevarden that it resembled a sweater which, when pulled a little, would completely unravel because of all the slip knots and dropped stiches. Diversions are important my dear reader.

"Yes," I said and my free hand strayed to the pouch slung across my shoulder that rested against my hip. "I was hoping," I looked to Brom, "that I could entrust it to you for the duration of the battle. If things go ill then you can take it and prevent it from falling back into enemy hands. I suspect that Galbatorix will guess it is here and I would prefer knowing the object is safe with you."

I had discussed this with Oromis and Glaedr before hand and they had both agreed that, if I wished to fight, I would have to give the egg to Brom who would then have to be ready to leave at any moment should it appear things went ill. As it was, because he was not fighting, he would be able to. Brom also knew, far better than any present, what it took to hide from the King and the quickest ways to safety. If the battle was won then we would speak of trying to find a Rider, until then, however, we had to keep it under lock and key.

"Of course," said Brom and his eyes never left the pouch. "I can take it now?"

I was relieved to pass it off. The weight was awkward against my hip and the responsibility was exhausting. That he would look after it I had no doubt and neither had Oromis, Glaedr or Islanzardi.

"It goes no further," I said looking at Nasuada, "you must swear to me that, until the right time, we keep the knowledge of this egg to those who are here in this tent. You cannot reveal the existence of the egg without Saphira, Eragon or my permission."

"I swear it," said Nasuada in the Ancient Language. I think, at any other time or in some other circumstance, she would have argued hard against such restrictions. Yet, we had shocked her. Our arrival – unplanned and with no warning – combined with Eragon's shocking transformation, my own adventure and the stealing of a dragon egg had unbalanced her to the point she willing agreed to my demands. Maybe, more than I could guess, Murtagh's greeting had also played a part.

Then, in a business like voice, Nasuada turned to Saphira. "Did you by chance see Hrothgar's warriors during you flight here? We are counting on their reinforcements."

_No, _said Saphira, _but I flew over wild country and they would stay to the roads. We also came straight here, and they would have come in the direction of Aberon. It would have been easy to miss them. _

"What," asked Eragon, "is the situation here?" His eyes flicked to Arya, who stood silent by the map covered table that dominated one side of the tent. The elf was gazing down at a map spread out on the table.

"We learned of Galbatorix's plans because of information Murtagh gathered," said Nasuada heavily. Beside me, Murtagh squeezed my hand tightly and I glanced at his face to see a mix of pain and guilt. What had he done to gather such information? Nasuada continued, "The Empire arrived three days ago and we have only shared two missives. First they asked for our surrender, which we refused, now we wait for their reply."

Ah, the politics of war. It was polite to exchange such messages and, yet, it only made the tension worse. In this kind of situation there was one answer: war. Better, to some, to get the fighting over with rather than sit around and waste supplies in a useless exchange of words.

"How many are there?" asked Eragon.

"We estimate," said Brom who had just finished concealing the pouch with the egg beneath his dark cloak, "that there are as many as a hundred thousand."

I did nothing, the number I already knew and the outcome I could only hope for. Eragon was a little more vocal in his exclamation, and Saphira gave a low growl. Murtagh did nothing; he just held my hand and stood so stiffly he might have been carved from stone. I had many questions for the son of Morzan and they started with: what had happened in Surda.

"We do not," said Brom, "think that Galbatorix will leave his castle. If he loses, then he knows we will continue to march to Uru'baen. He will wait until we are exhausted with battle and he is still strong before openly attacking."

"Come now," said Nasuada, "I must introduce you to Orrin and his nobles. Then you may tell me how you feel you can best serve the Varden."

As they left the pavilion – Nasuada walking beside Brom – Eragon and Arya moved together. The two seeming to gravitate together like two magnets. I walked with Murtagh and Saphira, a few feet behind them and, if one spoke softly, just out of earshot to.

"Did anything happen between them?" asked Murtagh as we watched Eragon and Arya, their heads bowed in conversation; walk together on our way to Orrin's pavilion. I knew what he meant and I was rather unsure of the answer.

_No, _said Saphira, _or at least not enough or maybe more than they know and neither wishes to be asked about it. _Her scales glinted dully in the reddish light that filtered through the clouds. The dragon had to be cautious with her tail lest she knock a few tents over on our walk to where Orrin and his men camped.

"I think," I said, "that they are on the path to something more."

"An elf and a Rider," said Murtagh with a faint smile. "It is both a good combination and a strange one."

_A princess and a spy, _said Saphira, i_s equally strange. _

I snorted in amusement and then, as we came to a stop before another large pavilion, I was forced to drop Murtagh's hand. He would not come with us, but return to his own duties and, as much as I wished otherwise, it would not be wise to make our feelings too public. He probably, I guessed, tried to keep away from Orrin's court in an effort to protect his identity from overcurious nobles. The expression in his eyes and his tense posture told me how he felt about leaving me now, but, trying to assuage his feelings, I reached out with my mind: _I will find you when I leave. _

He nodded and, before anymore could be said between us; I followed Eragon, Brom (who had wrapped his cloak tightly around to hide the egg), Arya, Nasuada and Saphira's head into the pavilion. What I saw made me let out a small laugh, when Orrin had been described a scientist of sorts they had not been exaggerating. The tent was crammed with an eccentric collection of beakers, retorts, and many other instruments that one would expect to see in a Biology classroom and not a battlefield tent. I had to stifle my amusement and curiosity quickly.

With a gesture at the interior of the tent, Nasuada said formally, "Let me introduce you to Orrin, son of Larkin and monarch of the realm of Surda."

From the depths of the tangled piles of glass emerged a rather tall, handsome man wearing a gold coronet on his black hair. To my eyes, used to judging rulers, he was no battlefield King but one used to steadiness of peace. His face was too open; even though his mind was heavily defended it lacked the brutally disciplined, determined, inspirational quality that one would want to see in the man set to lead his people into what would be a long, brutal campaign.

His words were pleasant, suited to the situation and he peppered both Eragon and Saphira with questions on their stay in Du Weldenvarden. It was then, as introductions between the Rider, dragon and King, came to an end that he turned to me. His eyes meeting mine with clear curiosity in their depths, someone had told him of me and I wondered if it had been Nasuada.

Taking my hand and brushing his lips against it in a courtly gesture of courtesy that I responded to with a small curtsey that befitted my rank, the King said with a polite smile. "My lady Zoe, I have heard many great things spoken of you. Rumors of your many influential roles and skills have reached me and I am pleased to finally meet you." His manners spoke of many years in a position of power. Nasuada would do well to take notes from this man; she had to learn these games of court just as she knew the games of a council of war.

"It is an honor to meet the King of one of the Varden's most important and powerful allies," I said with a small smile and watched, with concealed amusement, as the King puffed up a little. He hand, still holding mine as was proper, was relatively free of warrior calluses and I saw no scars upon his white hands. In this situation was in my element, my face settling into a mask and my entire demeanor speaking of easy confidence.

"You will be fighting?" asked the King as his eyes strayed to my weapons and his voice took on a faint note of disapproval.

"I will," I said coolly. "I served in Farthen Dur and am proud to fight by the Varden and Surda soldiers."

The King nodded and let my hand go, his gaze moving on though, at points, it flicked back to me. After a few more greetings between him, Arya, Brom and Nasuada, the King introduced us to the court that had accompanied him to the battle. Earl after earl paraded past us and I watched as Eragon put the manners I had taught him to good use as well as the formulaic phrases which were expected in such circumstances. I think Brom was rather pleased with everything - maybe it was a combination of parental pride and having a dragon egg hidden at his side.

When at last we won free of Orrin's pavilion, Eragon turned to Nasuada. "How can we serve the Varden?"

Nasuada seemed unsure, her gaze studying the Rider with curiosity. He was not under her command, but he was volunteering his services as an ally and, no doubt, the lady was unsure how best to utilize him in such a way that would respect his standing. "How do you think you can best help us? You two know your capabilities much better than I do."

Eragon was silent for a long moment and then he nodded slightly. "I will take control of Du Vrangr Gata, as they once asked me to, and organize them underneath me so I can lead them into battle. Working together will give us the best chance of foiling Galbatorix's magicians."

"I will go with you," said Brom. "I have been assisting in their training and my support of your take-over will help their leader, Trianna, accept you." No doubt, I thought as dragon, Rider and father vanished into the mess of tents, men and horses, Brom also wished to speak with his son and Saphira without us annoying bystanders.

"What of you Zoe?" asked the lady warrior.

"I will go and see if Murtagh can make use of me," I met the almond eyes of Nasuada and added, "unless you have anything you would rather I did?"

"No," she said with a shake of her head, "you may need to be in council with me and the other commanders of the Varden to discuss Islanzardi's message, but I will send for you if that occurs."

I nodded and, with a small smile in Arya's direction, I left and followed a mental thread towards Murtagh. He was with Tornac, not far from Nasuada's command tent. The war horses, along with Orrin's cavalry, had been picketed on the side farthest from the Empire. Grooms and soldiers moved among them, checking on the horses and ensuring they were fed and watered. I moved through the lines of glossy coated horses until I reached the end of a line and found Murtagh, brushing and stroking his beloved's horse. Snowfire and Cadoc were beside the steel grey stallion. The white coat of Snowfire gleamed in the reddish light like a white beacon.

"Murtagh," I said as I glanced around looking for my own horse. The mares were tied on the opposite line with geldings in between to act as a buffer. It would not do to have them too close lest a fight break between the highly strung stallions over a mare in season.

"She is last one on the right," said Murtagh as he looked over Tornac's back. "I took her out for exercise as much as I could in Aberon, but she has missed you."

I looked around and spotted the grey coat of Melynlas. Moving over to where she was I let out a low whistle and felt my heart swell as her head went up and her ears pricked as she looked over towards me. Moving forward with a wide smile, I moved to her side and stroked her neck. It felt so wonderful to see my horse again and to see her look so well. Murtagh and the stable grooms in Aberon had looked after her beautifully. The steel grey coat was soft, her eyes bright and her mane free of tangles. The black hooves were neatly shod and her legs were cold with no sign of strain.

Resting my head in the dip between the mare's shoulder bone and neck I closed my eyes and breathed the smell of horse in. It was a comforting smell to me and, for the first time, I realized that I had missed riding more than I had guessed. In my own world horses were an integral part of my life, not being able to ride or spend time with a four legged, inquisitive and treat smelling equine had been tougher then I had ever imagined. The mare reached her head around and nibbled at my clothing, no doubt searching for a lump of sugar or handful of oats. Even here, on the hot, dry ground, I was transported far away, back into childhood memories.

Scratching the mare's withers I watched as she stretched her neck out and leaned into my fingers. It made me laugh and, lost in the moment, I didn't realize Murtagh had come up beside me until he spoke.

"How did you know the key was important?"

I was so surprised that I stopped and received a small nip from my irritated mount. "What?" I asked and then, realizing what he meant, I sighed heavily and continued in my itching before my mare decided to step on my toes. "I guessed and the dragon helped to. Something guided me along that journey Murtagh," I glanced at his face, but could read nothing in it.

Voicing one of my own questions, I asked quietly, "What happened in Aberon, Murtagh? I would be a fool to think that you spent your time writing orders and listening to counselors drone on and on about shortages on bow strings."

"If you want to stay with Melynlas," said Murtagh abruptly, "I have to go and oversee the construction of some of the Varden's defenses. You can come if you want."

He did not – for I understood all too well -want to linger on the idea of where I had been or how close I had come to capture. Neither, it seemed, did he wish to discuss what had occurred during my time away. Sooner or later, however, he would have to face it and I was certain that, at least after the battle was over, we would find a time for it. His reaction had only increased my feeling that something terrible had happened and I wished he would let it go. I wished that, for once, Murtagh would set aside his defenses and let whatever feelings of guilt or remorse it had left him with go.

I sighed, "I'll be along in a minute Murtagh." I would go over - provide as much help as I could to the Varden, but I needed a few minutes with my horse. I needed to digest all the conversations that had occurred that day and the sudden decision I had made to ignore fate and destiny. What better place than with a horse that does not judge you? Leaning my face into her soft coat and letting myself breathe in rhythm, was nearly as good as a hug from one of my brothers.

I did go over after a few more minutes spent communing with my horse. Murtagh, a few dwarves (sadly Oric was not here but coming with Hrothgar) and some men from the Varden were working on the lines of defense erected between us and the Empire. I watched for the most part, stayed back a bit, and wondered at the sight of a son of Morzan commanding men of the Varden. He did it well, his orders fair and the men trusted him, even teased him a little.

Above us, wheeling endlessly between the two armies was a giant flock of birds. Eagles, hawks, and falcons, along with countless crows and their larger, dagger-beaked cousin, the raven, made up the moving cloud. They knew, like all birds in any world, that when armies appeared on the land, they could expect to feast on acres of carrion. It was a reminder.

They seemed to shriek that war….war was coming.

I gripped the hilt of my sword tightly. I had heard these sounds before, seen the pale faces of soldiers hurrying to obey orders and, during that time, I had leaned heavily on my family. Now…now I leaned on a dragon, a Rider, an old storyteller, an elf and, strangest of all, a young man with a past as complicated as my own.

What a world – what worlds – we live in.

* * *

><p>The sun was low in the west, intensifying the fermented orange light until the Varden's camp, the livid Jiet River, and the entirety of the Burning Plains glowed in the mad, marbled effulgence, as if in a scene from a lunatic's dreams. Eragon and Saphira had just recounted their brief encounter with Angela and Solembum that day to Brom, who had left them after they had dealt with Du Vrangr Gata. They had rejoined here, on a bit of bare ground by the sluggishly moving Jiet River. They were far enough away to provide a little privacy from the stares, whispered honorifics and any eavesdroppers that might be lingering around, that they could speak openly of all that had past. Brom told him a little of their time in Surda while Eragon and Saphira spoke a little of their own time away, the conversation neatly avoiding things that would take a great deal of time to explain fully.<p>

"Angela was mixing poisons," said Eragon as he leaned against Saphira. "And she wanted a full account of our time away from the Varden. She didn't seem at all surprised by my appearance either." He hadn't, to be honest, been surprised to see the Herbalist. She seemed to appear whenever anything interesting or semi-important was about to occur.

"Not all ways of winning a war are honorable or spoken about," reminded Brom gently.

"I know," said Eragon, "Zoe and my other teachers were quite devoted to the topic of battle strategy."

"Zoe assisted in your training?" asked Brom curiously. In the time he had known her, Zoe had never spoken of being an expert in battle strategy. Though, the man decided, he had the feeling the Zoe he knew was a far cry from the Zoe that had leapt down from Saphira and embraced him tightly.

"Yes," replied Eragon, "she would help me in the evenings." Pausing and reflecting on those evenings spent sparring, being lectured to about all sorts of things and, best of all, laughing he found himself smiling slightly. He had enjoyed those days despite his back, the pressure to preform and the constant reminder that he was not, no matter how hard he tried, ever going to measure up to the standards set both by himself and the elves.

Turning the subject away from his training, he mentioned casually, "Zoe was well received in Du Weldenvarden. It took me a little longer to prove myself."

Brom chuckled, "You are a Rider – of course they tested you. I am sure they tested Zoe, you just weren't aware of it and she would not have seen reason to tell you of it."

"Perhaps," murmured Eragon. "The Queen reminded me a great deal of Arya."

"She is an interesting player in the games of power." Brom tapped a finger against his thigh, "Still I would prefer to deal with Arya than her mother. I respect Islanzardi deeply as a ruler and have counted on her heavily as a friend through the years, but she is far more complicated to deal with than her daughter. Evandar was as straight as a well shot arrow, however, and it was an honor to meet him."

"Arya," said Eragon ruefully, "is plenty complicated."

Brom openly laughed at that. His brown eyes sparkling and he was about to respond, no doubt with a quick and cutting remark, when they were interrupted. Panting - his face sweaty as if he had been running all over camp since dawn - appeared a young boy carrying a message that Nasuada required them immediately. "An' I think you'd better hurry, Shadeslayer, Lord, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Ah," said Brom with a heavy sigh, "I don't think I have stopped running since I left Carvahall with you boy."

Eragon ran alongside Saphira through the rows of gray tents toward Nasuada's pavilion. Brom kept pace beside him, the three ignoring the stares, whispered words and bows that followed their movement. It was strange, he thought as he ran, how they acknowledged him. In Du Weldenvarden it had been different, the elves were silent in their respect and it had been easier to deal with. Here, however, people where not shy to call out his and Saphira's names – he felt constantly watched and spoken of in a way he had not experienced in Ellesmera.

Eragon and Brom entered the pavilion together, Saphira pushing her head through after him. He was met by a steely rasp as Jörmundur and a half-dozen of Nasuada's commanders drew their swords at the intruders. The men lowered their weapons as Nasuada said, "Excllent, you have arrived."

"What is wrong?" Eragon asked.

"Our scouts report that a company of some hundred Kull approach from the northeast." Nasuada looked grim, but not as if she was preparing to be attacked from two sides. Rather, she appeared as though fate had just dealt a particularly interesting bit of luck and she was unsure what to make of it or if she could make anything.

Eragon frowned as his spirits sank with the news. He had not expected to encounter Urgals in this battle, since Durza no longer controlled them and so many had been killed in Farthen Dûr. But if they had come, they had come. Though why made him uncertain. Over time he had come to realize that the Urgals were not the savage monsters he had thought them to be. Far from it, they acted out of desperation and because of deeply engrained traditions. If they had come then they would have come with a purpose and Galbatorix would not want his allies socializing with the Varden under a flag of truce. So, had the Urgals had come of their own free will? Had they brought, perhaps, an interesting offer that, as a Rider, he would have to listen to and consider? He knew his duty well.

Forcing his questions and emotions back, he let his face settle into an impassive mask as he stood beside Saphira with his father at his side. If the Ugrals offered assistance then he would accept it – he had no wish to fight them anymore than he wished to fight members of his own race. Besides, long lessons from Zoe had taught him one crucial lesson: careless talk and actions cost lives. It was not a flippant remark, but deadly true in a situation like this one.

Zoe and Murtagh arrived a minute later, silently taking positions beside Eragon. Murtagh looked as grim as always, but Zoe had settled into a cool calm kind of appearance that made her all the more regal and untouchable. The Rider was glad for their presence - neither of them tolerated fools or liars.

At Nasuada's behest, her guards tied back the front and side panels of the pavilion, leaving it open for all to see and allowing Saphira to crouch low next to Eragon. Then Nasuada seated herself in her high-backed chair, and Jörmundur and the other commanders arranged themselves in two parallel rows so that anyone who sought an audience with her had to walk between them.

It was an imposing line. The men who formed it were clearly proud to be chosen for such a task and they stood completely still, their faces set in proud expressions. They might have been knights from a chessboard.

Less than five minutes later, a great roar of anger erupted from the eastern edge of the camp. The storm of jeers and insults grew louder and louder until a single Kull entered their view, walking toward Nasuada while a mob of the Varden peppered him with taunts. The Urgal—or ram, as Eragon remembered they were called—held his head high and bared his yellow fangs, but did not otherwise react to the abuse directed at him. He was a eight and a half feet tall, with strong, proud— if grotesque—features, thick horns that spiraled all the way around, and a fantastic musculature that made it seem he could kill a bear with a single blow. His only clothing was a knotted loincloth, a few plates of crude iron armor held together with scraps of mail, and a curved metal disk nestled between his two horns to protect the top of his head. His long black hair was in a queue.

Eragon could not help but admire the Urgal's courage in confronting an entire army of enemies alone and unarmed. He doubted that, if he had been in that position, he would have been able to accomplish it. To his surprise, he found the Kull's mind strongly shielded.

When the Urgal stopped before the eaves of the pavilion, not daring to come any closer, Nasuada had her guards shout for quiet to settle the crowd. Everyone looked at the Urgal, wondering what he would do next. His face, so different from a human or elves, was impossible to read. There was something wild to him, untamed and unfettered by the mundane rules of mortals. He reminded Eragon of the Spine, in its danger and wildness laid its strength and odd kind of beauty.

The Urgal lifted his bulging arms toward the sky, inhaled a mighty breath, and then opened his maw and bellowed at Nasuada. In an instant, a thicket of swords pointed at the Kull, but he paid them no attention and continued his ululation until his lungs were empty. Then he looked at Nasuada, ignoring the hundreds of people who, it was obvious, longed to kill him, and growled in a thick, guttural accent, "What treachery is this, Lady Nightstalker? I was promised safe passage. Do humans break their word so easily?"

Unthinkingly, Eragon leaned forward and whispered in Nasuada's ear, "Don't take offense. This is how they greet their war chiefs. The proper response is to then butt heads, but I don't think you want to try that."

"Did the elves teach you this?" she murmured, never taking her eyes off the waiting Kull.

"Yes."

"What else did they teach you of the Urgals?"

"A great deal," he murmured. Over time he had become fascinated by them and wished that, if the war did come to an end, he could spend some time in their villages. Not, he knew quite well, that they would want him to. He had killed many of their kind and, even more important, he was human and the amount of bad blood between their races would be hard to overcome.

Then Nasuada said to the Kull and also to her men beyond, "The Varden are not liars like Galbatorix and the Empire. Speak your mind; you need fear no danger while we hold council under the conditions of truce."

The Urgal grunted and raised his bony chin higher, baring his throat; Eragon recognized it as a gesture of friendship. To lower one's head was a threat in their race, for it meant that an Urgal intended to ram you with his horns. "I am Nar Garzhvog of the Bolvek tribe. I speak for my people." It seemed as if he chewed on each word before spitting it out. "Urgals are hated more than any other race. Elves, dwarves, humans all hunt us, burn us, and drive us from our halls."

"Not without good reason," pointed out Nasuada. Only because he was standing close to her could Eragon see the faint lines of tension around her mouth and eyes. She was, no doubt, struggling not to remember her father's death at the hands of the Urgal as well as so many of her people. But she did and, for that, he felt his respect for the woman rise.

Garzhvog nodded. "Not without reason. Our people love war. Yet how often are we attacked just because you find us as ugly as we find you? We have thrived since the fall of the Riders. Our tribes are now so large, the harsh land we live in can no longer feed us."

"So you made a pact with Galbatorix."

"Aye, Lady Nightstalker. He promised us good land if we killed his enemies. He tricked us, though." Garzhvog shook his ponderous head. "Our finest rams died for Galbatorix, and then he abandoned us like a broken sword. He is _drajl _and snake-tongued and a lack-horned betrayer. Lady Nightstalker, we are fewer now, but we will fight with you if you let us."

"What is the price?" asked Nasuada. "Your people must want something in return."

"Blood. Galbatorix's blood. And if the Empire falls, we ask that you give us land, land for breeding and growing, land to avoid more battles in the future." Eragon guessed Nasuada's decision by the set of her face, even before she spoke. So apparently did Jörmundur, for he leaned toward her and said in an undertone,

"Nasuada, you can't do this. It goes against nature."

"Nature can't help us defeat the Empire. We _need _allies." Eragon glanced at Zoe's face, but could read nothing in her grey eyes. There was no sign if she agreed with this decision or counseled against it.

"The men will desert before they'll fight with Urgals."

"That can be worked around. Eragon, will they keep their word?"

Looking at the Urgal he remembered reading that they valued loyalty and honesty. In some areas, humans could look to them for lessons in how to live and work together. He had no doubt about his following words: "Only so long as we share a common enemy."

If anything he doubted the ability of the Varden – who had suffered such horrible losses because of them – to accept the assistance they offered. Had he not had it drilled – endlessly – by Oromis, Saphira, Glaedr and Zoe he had no doubt that both he had Jormunder would have shared very similar opinions. With new confidence in his abilities and opinions, Eragon did not doubt he would have voiced them to.

With a sharp nod, Nasuada again lifted her voice: "Very well, Nar Garzhvog. You and your warriors may bivouac along the eastern flank of our army, away from the main body, and we shall discuss the terms of our pact."

"Ahgrat ukmar," growled the Kull, clapping his fists to his brow. "You are a wise Herndall, Lady Nightstalker."

"Why do you call me that?"

"Herndall?"

"No, Nightstalker."

Garzhvog made a _ruk-ruk _sound in his throat that Eragon interpreted as laughter.

"Nightstalker is the name we gave your sire because of how he hunted us in the dark tunnels under the dwarf mountain and because of the color of his hide. As his cub, you are worthy of the same name." With that he turned on his heel and strode out of the camp. He looked neither left nor right. He just marched on and the Varden parted for him silently.

Standing, Nasuada proclaimed, "Anyone who attacks the Urgals shall be punished as if he attacked a fellow human. See that word of this is posted in every company."

No sooner had she finished than Eragon noticed King Orrin approaching at a quick pace, his cape flapping around him. When he was close enough, he cried, "Nasuada! Is it true you met with an Urgal? What do you mean by it, and why wasn't I alerted sooner? I don't—"

He was interrupted as a sentry emerged from the ranks of gray tents, shouting, "A horseman approaches from the Empire!"

In an instant, King Orrin forgot his argument and joined Nasuada as she hurried toward the vanguard of the army, followed by at least a hundred people. Rather than stay among the crowd, Eragon pulled himself onto Saphira and let her carry him to their destination. Beside the sapphire dragon ran Brom, Arya, Murtagh and Zoe. Everyone was hurrying to the defenses that offered a little bit of a buffer between the no-man land and the Empire's camp.

When Saphira halted at the ramparts, trenches, and rows of sharpened poles that protected the Varden's leading edge, Eragon saw a lone soldier riding at a furious clip across the bleak no-man's-land. Above him, the birds of prey swooped low to discover if the first course of their feast had arrived. The horse's eyes were wild, its coat damp with sweat. The rider was a pale faced, rat like man who wore the colors of the Empire proudly.

The soldier reined in his black stallion some thirty yards from the breastwork, keeping as much distance as possible between him and the Varden. In a loud voice he cried out, "By refusing King Galbatorix's generous terms of surrender, you choose death as your fate. No more shall we negotiate. So flee, I say, or suffer the doom of your herald." With that the soldier untied a canvas sack and flourished a severed head. He threw it into the air and watched it fall among the Varden, then turned his stallion, dug in his spurs, and galloped back toward the dark mass of Galbatorix's army.

"Shall I kill him?" asked Eragon. He dearly longed to; his anger with the sentry making him want to demonstrate a little of the power he had amassed in Ellesmera. Already he was reaching for the power, feeling the words he would need to direct popping into his head.

Nasuada shook her head. "We will have our due soon enough. I won't violate the sanctity of envoys, even if the Empire has." Her hands gripped each other tightly before her; there was an air of finality about her now. Any hope that they could have avoided the conflict – slim as it was – had been dashed.

"As you—" He yelped with surprise and clutched Saphira's neck to keep from falling as she reared above the ramparts, planting her front legs upon the chartreuse bank.

Opening her jaws, Saphira uttered a long, deep roar, much like Garzhvog had done, only this roar was a defiant challenge to their enemies, a warning of the wrath they had roused, and a clarion call to all who hated Galbatorix. It echoed on and on, endless in the hot air and, for a minute, Eragon could imagine what it must have sounded like when dragons had been numerous and their calls had echoed through the world.

The sound of her trumpeting voice frightened the stallion so badly, he leapt to the right, slipped on the heated ground, and fell on his side. The soldier was thrown free of the horse and landed in a gout of fire that erupted at that very instant from the smoking ground. The man had time to utter a single cry. Then it was over. A quick death – quicker than many that awaited men the following day.

The birds began to descend, slowly wheeling down towards the body.

The Varden cheered Saphira's accomplishment. Even Nasuada allowed herself a small smile. Then she clapped her hands and said, "They will attack at dawn, I think." Turning around she began to deliver orders in a clear voice to the men around her and they rushed to obey.

She glanced back once to the Rider and those that surrounded him, "Eragon, gather Du Vrangr Gata and prepare for action." Taking Orrin by the shoulder, she guided him back toward the center of the compound, saying, "Sire, there are decisions we must make. I have a certain plan, but it will require…"

_Let them come, _said Saphira. The tip of her tail twitched like that of a cat stalking a rabbit. _They will all burn. _

From beside Saphira, Zoe said quietly, "Fools." Her face, lit by the blood red light, looked ageless and suddenly very cold. "Fools…" she murmured again and then she turned away.

Eragon felt cold as he glanced back at the Empire's camp. His mind was already speeding through lists: he had to locate both his and Saphira's armor and make sure that…but part of him was thinking of the men that lay a few miles away. There would be conscripted farmers, the merchants, the bakers and other ordinary folk who he would face in this coming battle. His eye fell on Murtagh, a grim warrior, on Arya with her powerful aura of magic, and on his father who had no qualms about what they were doing.

Maybe, whispered a part of him, we are all fools as we march into this battle…

* * *

><p><em><strong>Review Replies:<strong>_

_**General TheDyingTitan: Thank you for the review! I understand how you feel and I do try to only linger on certain scenes and cut others out. Hope you enjoy this chapter! **_

_**Jaedyn Shur'tugal: haha I am glad you like it! Hope you enjoy this chapter to!**_

_**Nimtheriel: Yes he does not have Aren...but maybe he will...you never know! :) thank you for the review!**_

_**chris: I guess you can stay that this is another tension builder! Fighting next chapter...ahahahhaha you had me laughing so hard with the idea of a cat fight between Zoe and Nasudada! Duck and cover would be a very good idea and maybe some flame extinguishers to? I think I can manage another quick update...the next chapter is mostly done. Thank you again and happy writing/reading!**_

_**peachycupcake: I think it works out :) never fear! Thank you for the review!**_

_**live laugh play music: Murtagh is a fun character to write...yes the battle will be interesting and maybe full of surprises to! Happy reading and writing!**_

_**Skoilr: Awesome :) I am glad you enjoy it! Yes, I do plan to finish the series...hopefully soonish! Thank you and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer: haha you made me laugh with that review! Sad time indeed...but maybe a bit happier now despite everything. Hope you part-time job is going well and that all of your story writing hasn't been put on too big a hold! Thank you for the review ;) it was hilarious! and hope you enjoy this one to!**_


	60. The Endless Wait

Night had fallen on the Burning Plains. The roof of opaque smoke covered the moon and stars, plunging the land into profound darkness that was broken only by the sullen glow of the sporadic peat fires, and by the thousands of torches each army lit. From Eragon's position near the fore of the Varden, the Empire looked a dense nest of uncertain orange lights as large as any city. The Varden was a small town in comparison.

Eragon had found fighting in Farthen Dur claustrophobic and had longed for anything to clear the air of smoke and the smell of blood. He had thought that, at his next battle, he would not have to contend with that feeling. However, fighting on the Burning Plains of Alagaesia was terribly similar. The air was hot, the ground hard and the smoke made him cough.

As Eragon buckled the last piece of Saphira's armor onto her tail, he closed his eyes to maintain better contact with the magicians from Du Vrangr Gata. He had to learn to locate them at a moment's notice; his life would depend on communicating with them in a quick and timely manner. In turn, the magicians had to learn to recognize the touch of his mind so they did not block him when he needed their assistance. Zoe, Murtagh, Arya and Brom were also part of this network – they were like bright lights that he was so familiar with that, finding them, was easy and prevented him from seeing the other, weaker, minds that made up the other magicians.

Eragon smiled and said, "Hello, Zoe." He opened his eyes to see Zoe walking out of the smoky haze up to the low knuckle of rock where he and Saphira sat. The young woman, outfitted in her own armor, was leading her saddled mare.

Glancing her over, he asked, "What brings you here?"

Zoe shrugged. "It is not good to be alone on a night like this. Murtagh and Arya should be along soon to. Brom is off doing something with Nasuada I think."

Turning away, feeling his grim mood return, Eragon looked back to the Empire. Zoe, perceptive as always, sensed his mood and rested a hand on Eragon's shoulder. The light touch was soothing and gentle even though he couldn't really feel it through his armor just sense it.

"You'll be fine. We will all be fine," Zoe smiled down at him. But the smile didn't reach her eyes and he wondered if part of her was also saying: things are rarely alright. We are rarely fine and it is a fool's hope to believe that nothing will go wrong.

Still, despite it all, Eragon felt a small well of gratitude spring up within him. He had been through plenty with Zoe; they would make it through this to. Or, if they didn't, at least he could say he had the honor of fighting beside not only Saphira, but a princess from another world. "I'm glad you came."

Zoe smiled slightly, "I am used to fighting by my brothers. You are a kind of brother to." Her eyes flicked back to the waiting Empire as if remembering other standards flying over a different camp - memories taking the place of the present. If the grim set to her mouth and the faint lines of tension around her eyes were any evidence, they were not good memories nor ones remembered easily.

_What are they like, your brothers? _asked Saphira.

A twinkle sprang into Zoe's eyes and her face softened as though just thinking of her brothers made her feel better. "They are very different people. Pethred is much more like my father and fierce warrior. Eomund is a little more like me in the way he deals with the world, quieter and less assured then Pethred. Maybe you will get to meet them one day, you would enjoy them. If they could see me now…" a small chuckle escaped her, "they would have words for me I can tell you that!"

"I would like to meet them," said Eragon. Zoe had spoken of them only a little in the time he had known her and even less on some of the things they had gotten up to.

_If they are anything like you, _said Saphira with a chuckle, _then I am sure we would never be bored by their company. _

Zoe laughed openly at that, her laugh sounding like silver wind chimes in the air. "You forget Saphira," replied the young woman, "I do not attract trouble, but because I follow you two," she pointed at them, "I get involved in it!" Her grey eyes briefly sparkled with amusement before it faded and the present circumstances returned. Yet the words and their lightness remained like the memory of a soap bubble.

Quietly and with rising curiosity, Eragon asked, "What do you think about Nasuada and the Urgals?"

"She made the right choice."

"What will come of it?"

"With any luck a solutions that can help overcome years of conflict between men and Urgals." Silence enveloped them after that. Eragon sat against Saphira and stared out at the Empire, trying to prevent his growing anxiety from overwhelming him. Minutes dragged by. To him, the interminable waiting before a battle was as stressful as the actual fighting. He oiled Saphira's saddle, polished rust off his hauberk, and then resumed familiarizing himself with the minds of Du Vrangr Gata, anything to pass the time.

Zoe, meanwhile, just sat silent and still beside him. She did not appear at all worried or restless; rather she might have been mediating in Oromis's peaceful clearing back in Du Weldenvarden. Eragon had the feeling she had immersed herself in memories, good memories, and was shutting out the world. Her steady presence beside him was comforting.

Over an hour later, he paused as he sensed two beings approaching from across the no-man's-land. _Angela? Solembum? _Puzzled and alarmed, he turned to Zoe only to find that she was gazing out at the land, already aware of the approaching visitors. A small, half-smile was on her face and she rose until she was standing, looking out at the empty land. Eragon stood beside her, confused and worried.

Angela soon trotted into the light, Solembum at her heels. The witch was muffled in a dark, full-length cloak that allowed her to blend into the mottled landscape. Displaying a surprising amount of alacrity, strength, and flexibility, she clambered over the many rows of breastwork the dwarves had engineered, swinging from pole to pole, leaping over trenches, and finally running helter-skelter down the steep face of the last rampart to stop, panting, by Saphira. Her face was flushed and there was a wild look to her.

Throwing back the hood of her cloak, Angela flashed them a bright smile. "A welcoming committee! How thoughtful of you." As she spoke, the werecat shivered along his length, fur rippling. Then his outline blurred as if seen through cloudy water, resolving once more into the nude figure of a shaggy-haired boy. Angela dipped her hand into a leather purse at her belt and passed a child's tunic and breeches back to Solembum, along with the small black dagger he fought with.

"Were you successful?" asked Zoe with a gesture at the Herbalist and her companion. The young woman did not seem at all surprised or concerned that Angela had been crossing enemy lines. In fact, from her relaxed posture, she seemed as if she had been expecting it. Which, thought Eragon, she probably had.

"I think so."

"What were you doing?" asked Eragon feeling like the odd one out. It was clear Zoe knew what the Herbalist had been doing, but he didn't have the foggiest of ideas.

"If you must know, then, I was doing my best to help defeat the Empire, only _my _methods don't involve yelling and running around with a sword." The Herbalist looked rather prim, as if she was above them and their crude methods. Eragon just felt more confused as Zoe let out a small laugh that echoed in the still air.

Hazarding a wild guess, he asked, "Does it have to do with all those poisons you were concocting?"

Angela paused to roll up her cloak into a tight bundle, which she stored in her purse. "Yes," she glanced back at the silent Empire camp, "it does."

Sudden understanding made Eragon grimace a little, but Zoe spoke before he did. "Anything," she said firmly, "goes in this kind of war."

"I know," said Eragon, "and it was a clever idea. Was that why you wanted all the glass in Orrin's tent last time I saw you?"

"Of course," said the Herbalist with a small smile.

"Eragon," came a voice from behind them. "Saphira. Zoe." It was Nasuada as Eragon knew long before she had ever spoken. He also sensed that she was accompanied by four Kull, one of whom was Garzhvog. A small group of ever-present guards followed behind their leader. Fixing his face in a blank mask, he turned and acknowledged their presence with a small nod of his head.

"My Lady," murmured Eragon. Zoe stood silent beside him, holding her mare who danced a little in fear at the sight of the Urgals.

Despite his acceptance of their presence, Eragon's hand never left the haft of his weapon and his eyes never left the hulking Urgals. He knew they prized strength and his unwillingness to relax would be read as a warrior prepared to fight at a moment's notice. Angela seemed to have no such inhibitions. She paid Nasuada the respect due to her, then addressed the Urgals in their own harsh language, to which they answered with evident delight. Zoe, unknown to the Urgals, remained silent in the shadow of the Varden's breastwork.

Nasuada drew Eragon off to the side so they could have a measure of privacy. There, she said, "I'm doing everything I can to ensure we don't lose tomorrow. It doesn't matter, though, how well we fight, or how well I lead the Varden, or even if we rout the Empire if _you,"_ she poked him in the chest, "are killed. Do you understand?" He nodded again. "There's nothing I can do to protect you if Galbatorix reveals himself; if he does, you will face him alone. Du Vrangr Gata poses no more of a threat to him than they do to you, and I'll not have them eradicated without reason."

"I have always known," said Eragon, "that I would face Galbatorix alone but for Saphira." Though, a small part of him wondered, perhaps not quite as alone as he had thought. Maybe a new Rider would found, trained and then come to stand beside him and Saphira in this fight. The red egg was secured on their side, with any luck it would hatch and the new Rider would be ready to join them soon enough.

A sad smile touched Nasuada's lips. She looked very tired in the flickering torchlight.

"In any case, I can at least keep you from dying from a sword in the gut. I have asked Garzhvog and three of his rams to be your guards, so long as they agreed—which they have—to let you examine their minds for treachery."

For a long moment Eragon was silent as he considered the offer and knew, while her tone was not one of command, she was basically ordering him to accept for his own good. Searching Nasuada's face he let out a long sigh and said simply, "I would be foolish not to accept help when it is offered no matter the source." Looking to Saphira who was watching them with bright eyes he briefly imagined losing her and the pain of it made him clench his jaw. He would take no chances with her safety either by wishing he had accepted the guards or by not ensuring their loyalty. "I will let them guard me, but only if I find nothing suspicious in their minds."

Nasuada nodded though she seemed pleased. "There is one more matter." Her face tightened and Eragon felt a sudden feeling of apprehension grow within him, "In the event of my death, I have chosen you as my successor. If that should happen, I suggest you rely upon Jörmundur and Brom's advice— they has more experience than the other members of the Council of Elders—and I would expect you to place the welfare of those underneath you before all else."

Her words caught him by surprise. Nothing meant more to her than the Varden. Offering it to him was the greatest act of trust she could make. Her confidence humbled and touched him; he bowed his head. Yet, it also put him against a wall and in a position that was terribly uncomfortable. He did not, could not, take the offer and it bothered him that she would even think of offering it to him. Eragon had thought she was already aware of his position – apparently during his time away such things had slipped her mind.

Gently, trying to explain his reasoning, he said quietly. "I cannot accept this Nasuada."

"Why?" she demanded and her eyes flashed a little both with irritation and even a little hurt. The Varden was, to her, like family and his refusal was akin to attack on that family. Eragon winced, but plowed on.

"I am a Rider," he told her gently even in the face of her irritation, "I cannot take such a place of command. I must stand alone and apart – if you fall and a new leader is chosen it must be someone who can afford to take a more permanent position. If I took it my time would be short – temporary." Meeting her gaze steadily he continued, "I suggest someone like Jormundur or even Brom. I will back them and lend my word to strengthen their position, but I will not take a leadership position. I cannot take it. I am a Rider and, while we offer counsel, we do not act as you or Orrin or Islanzardi."

Before – in Farthen Dur – he would not have spoken such words and made such statement, but time had changed. He had learned about whom he was now and what he had to become. Zoe had taught him the game, but Oromis had given him the purpose and the understanding of who he was. Now, after weeks of growing and learning, he was ready to defend this position even as he acted for the Varden. It was a tightrope, but one he was all too willing to walk.

Nasuada shook her head and her words, when they came, were rather biting. "You speak with authority now, Eragon, and wisdom."

"No," said the Rider and he shook his head, "I know who I am and what I am. I am honored – truly and deeply honored – by this show of trust, but for the good of the Varden I cannot accept."

The lady looked at him with a rare display of open curiosity and confused amusement. Her eyes searched his new face as if unsure how to answer him. "I understand your reasons even if I do not fully agree with them. I cannot control you or Saphira, Eragon, and so I must respect your wishes."

"I do serve you Nasuada," said Eragon, "and I serve the Varden in the best ways I can see. This is one of them."

For a long moment they looked at each other and not as a commander looking at a soldier. Equal to equal, warrior to warrior and ally to ally.

"Thank you Eragon," said the lady and the Rider knew she was thanking him for more than the words they had spoken just then. She was thanking him for much more and, while he would never admire Ajihad's daughter the way he had her father, he deeply respected her. She had done much, she had sacrificed much and, hopefully, she would finish the job. Turning away from him, she rejoined the others.

Eragon slowly walked back to Saphira. He studied Garzhvog and the other Urgals, trying to gauge their mood, but their features were so different from those he was accustomed to, he could discern nothing more than the broadest of emotions. Zoe was standing a little ways from them, stroking her mare's dark neck and whispering in her ear. Solembum was standing by her in his boy shape and Angela seemed to be checking her various pockets as if looking for something.

Looking back to the Urgals, Eragon said out loud, "Nar Garzhvog, I am told that the four of you agreed to allow me within your minds."

"That is so, Firesword. Lady Nightstalker told us what was required. We are honored to have the chance to battle alongside such a mighty warrior, and one who has done so much for us."

"What do you mean? I have killed scores of your kin." Excerpts from one of Oromis's scrolls rose in Eragon's memory. He remembered reading that Urgals, both male and female, determined their rank in society through combat, and that it was this practice, above all else, that had led to so many conflicts between Urgals and other races. This meant, he realized in a sudden rush of understanding, that if they admired his feats in battle, then they may have accorded him the same status as one of their war chiefs. He found it both strange to be known by the Urgals and a little troubling to.

"By killing Durza, you freed us from his control. We are in your debt, Firesword. None of our rams will challenge you, and if you visit our halls, you and the dragon, Flametongue, will be welcomed as no outsiders ever before."

Of all the responses Eragon had expected, gratitude was the last. Part of him was shocked and another merely wanted to accept it – move it away and reassure the Urguals that, after killing so many of their kin, he hardly felt it was fair to speak of debts. Now, he wished to convey, it was time to speak of friendship difficult and strange as that might sound after decades of war.

Inclining his head to them he said firmly, "I will not forget your kind offer, but I wish for no debts between us. We are allies and comrades." Switching his gaze to the other Urgals, he asked, "Are you ready? I will make it quick."

"Aye, Rider."

As Eragon reached toward Garzhvog's consciousness and immersed himself in the Urgal's identity. The very nature of his search—looking for malevolent intent perhaps hidden somewhere in Garzhvog's past—meant Eragon had to examine years of memories. As best as he could Eragon avoided causing deliberate pain and kept his examination short. Like dwarves and elves, the mind of an Urgal possessed different elements than a human mind. Its structure emphasized rigidity and hierarchy—a result of the tribes the Urgals organized themselves into—but it felt rough and raw, brutal and cunning: the mind of a wild animal.

Though he made no effort to learn more about Garzhvog as an individual, Eragon could not help absorbing pieces of the Urgal's life. Garzhvog did not resist. Indeed, he seemed eager to share his experiences and show that, while he had killed humans, his people had also suffered at their hands.

_We cannot afford to have another Rider rise up who seeks to destroy_ _us, _said Garzhvog. _Look well, O Firesword…_

Swiftly, for he did not wish to prolong the experience for any of those involved, Eragon removed himself from Garzhvog's mind and dove into each of the three remaining Urgals. There was one common theme and he felt that it resonated deeply within his own heart: _We did what we had to in order to_ _care for our families._

Don't all of us think like that? Wondered Eragon as he finished his examination. We are not so different that we do not search for many of the same things. Zoe, a princess and a commander, wants her family to be safe. I want mine, torn and alienated as it is, to be protected. Nasuada is the same, Arya and Oromis both have acted in the defense of the home and people they love. We have all come together under a shared cause of saving this land, and many others to, from the madness of Galbatorix.

When he finished, Eragon stood before Garzhvog and knew the Urgal's bloodline was as regal as any prince's. He knew that, though uneducated, Garzhvog was a brilliant commander and as great a thinker and philosopher as Oromis himself. But his understanding ran deeper than that. Before, even though his hatred had turned to respect, it had lacked any connection or understanding. Now, after seeing what he had seen in the Ugals minds, he felt that they shared a common goal. It was a basic thing, but a powerful one and he felt – strange though it may be too many of his race – honored to fight beside the Urgals. They had suffered losses equal to any suffered by humans and still they struggled on.

Baring his throat as a sign of respect, he said out loud, "Nar Garzhvog," and for the first time, he was aware of the lofty origins of the title _nar. _"I am proud to have you at my side. You may tell the Herndall that so long as the Urgals remain true to their word and do not turn against the Varden, I shall not oppose you."

"Again, we are in your debt, Firesword," said Garzhvog. He and the other Urgals pressed their fists against their jutting brows.

Eragon could tell that Nasuada wanted to know the details of what had just transpired but that she restrained herself. Something that, at that particular time, he was grateful for – digging through minds even if you just skimmed the surface was a confusing and involved process. "Good. Now that this is settled, I must be off. Eragon, you'll receive my signal from Trianna when the time has arrived." With that she strode away into the darkness.

As Eragon settled against Saphira, Zoe took a seat next to him. She was holding her mare's reins in one hand and playing with a loose strand of hair with the other. "How did you find it?"

"They want many of the same things."

"Yes," she said, "but some things are shared no matter race, social standing, experiences, views or goals." She looked away again and Eragon had the distinct feeling she was remembering another time when she had faced similar issues as he had just faced.

The night lay heavy around them as they waited for dawn. Murtagh had appeared leading Tornac and taken a seat by them and Brom had stopped by briefly before disappearing back into the tents. Zoe had taken to tapping a finger against the pommel of her sword while Murtagh just stared moodily ahead, occasionally the young man would look at Zoe and then away. The Kull sat back to back, chanting death songs under their breaths. The low rumble of their voices was oddly soothing and broke the depressing, heavy silence. Arya arrived a little while later, but no words were spoken between them and she took her place silently beside Saphira. Her bow rested across her knees and she appeared lost in thought.

Eragon spent the time casting wards about himself, Saphira, Nasuada, Zoe, Murtagh, and even Arya. He knew that it was dangerous to protect so many, but he could not bear it if they were harmed. When he finished, he transferred what power he dared into the diamonds embedded within the belt of Beloth the Wise.

He also watched with interest as Angela clad herself in green and black armor and then, taking out a carved-wood case, assembled her staff-sword from two separate handles that attached in the middle and two blades of watered steel that threaded into the ends of the resulting pole. She twirled the completed weapon around her head a few times before seeming satisfied that it would hold up to the shock of battle.

It was near dawn when the cries began. Eragon, Arya and Saphira noticed them first because of their heightened senses, but the agonized screams were soon loud enough for the others to hear. Rising to his feet, Murtagh looked out toward the Empire, where the cacophony originated. Zoe just bent her head and gazed silently at her hands, not seeming to hear the sounds or, if she did, felt some sort of relief they had started instead of continuing to wait for them.

"What is happening?" he wondered out loud. "I have never heard such sounds."

"It has started," said Angela. Her former cheer had deserted her; she looked pale, drawn, and gray in the face, as if she were ill. Zoe looked grim and her hand had tightened around the leather reins making Melynlas pin her ears in annoyance.

From his post by Saphira, Eragon asked, "Is that?" He had stood up and was gazing out at the Empire feeling nauseous.

"Yes," said the Herbalist shortly. "I poisoned their stew, their bread, their drink—anything I could get my hands on. Some will die now; others will die later as the various toxins take their toll. I slipped the officers nightshade and other such poisons so they will hallucinate in battle." She tried to smile, but without much success. "Not a very honorable way to fight, I suppose, but I'd rather do this than be killed: confusion to our enemies and all that."

"You are more dangerous than I had ever imagined," said Murtagh evenly and his voice held a conversational note even as the screams intensified. His gaze met the Herbalist's and there was a glint of approval in them.

Angela gave an unpleasant laugh. "You don't know the half of it boy."

"I am glad you are on our side," said Eragon quietly.

He found her deed repugnant but did not pretend to know whether it was good or evil. It was necessary. Angela had poisoned the soldiers for the same reason Nasuada had accepted the Urgals' offer of friendship—because it might be their only hope of did not like it. One was not supposed to like it, and it seemed that Zoe had long ago reached this sort of place. Her face looked grim, but she was not upset and Eragon was reminded sharply that, to her, this was just one more battle on top of many more – maybe even more desperate ones. Arya to, seemed to have reached that level. The elf's green eyes fixed darkly on the Empire, her hands gripping her bow tightly.

"As you should be," said the Herbalist.

The soldiers' wails increased in number until Eragon longed to plug his ears and block out the sound. It made him wince and fidget, and it put his teeth on edge. He forced himself to listen, though. This was the cost of resisting the Empire. It would be wrong to ignore it. So he sat with his hands clenched into fists and his jaw forming painful knots while the Burning Plains echoed with the disembodied voices of dying men.

* * *

><p>He had tried arguing with her.<p>

While they had both readied their horses for war, Murtgah had argued fiercely with her. They had never raised their voices, never paused in their work, but it was as intense an argument as one held in loud voices with clenched fists. The ferocity of the words exchanged between them upset the horses and made Melynlas attempt to kick him. Grooms and soldiers moving in and around the horses had avoided them and not even dared to send a curious glance towards them lest they be caught up in the fierce argument.

When attempts to persuade her with arguments had failed he had tried his hand at pleading with her. Yes he, Murtagh son of Morzan, had pleaded with Zoe of Angard and Llyr. In the end he had conceded defeat. She would not be swayed and, despite his feelings, he knew she had every right to be there even if he would rather she wasn't. After all, as she had pointed out to him, she had fought in more wars then he had, her magic provided her with weapons that not even he had and, most importantly, she was no helpless maiden in distress when it came to fighting.

No, he knew she would look after herself without him hovering or trying to shelter her, but he couldn't help but think of Vivian. How could he not think of Vivian? He had thought of her too much these past weeks and, after losing her, the idea of losing Zoe was a painful knife in his heart. They were similar - one girl dead and the other alive – in the way they choose to live. Both of them had lived on the edge, both fighting even if they fought for different things and against different things.

He glared at the ground before him. Murtagh had, after bringing himself sharply under control, walked Tornac over to where Zoe, Eragon, Saphira and Arya had chosen to wait for the battle. Now he sat beside his half-brother and listened, grimly, to the sounds of men dying of poison. He would be killing again tomorrow, fighting beside Zoe and those that, despite his parentage and upbringing, had come to trust and care for him.

Sooner or later he would have to tell Zoe about Vivian and his adventures in Surda. It wouldn't be that bad – Zoe knew how to listen and wait until a person was ready to speak. She hadn't pushed him that afternoon when she had first inquired about it but the look on her face had told him it would not be the last conversation they had on that topic. Besides, he loved her – strange and wondrous as that sounded. How he, son of Morzan, had come to love the girl, sitting a few feet away from him, was something he would never understand. Neither could he understand how she had come to love him. He knew she did – she had shown that to him when he had greeted her.

Murtagh glanced at his brother. Eragon was gazing at the Empire, his jaw clenched and his eyes never moving. They had never looked that similar, but now they were so opposite that they would never be taken for brothers. Not that they had really ever thought of each other as brothers, friends to the end but brothers was a stretch when they knew so little of the other. Looking back to the Empire Murtagh did his best to block out the sounds of dying men.

Was this what it all came down to? Was he destined to love and lose in a never ending cycle? His mother, Tornac, Vivian and, now, Zoe who he loved in a way he had never thought possible. It had a terrible symmetry and a rising feeling of panic that he had felt only a few times before – just as he realized that someone he loved was dead or dying or about to die. Vivian's face flashed through his mind and his hands tightened around the leather reins in his hand. His stallion jerked his head, uncomfortable both with the tight grip and the emotions emanating from his rider.

Suddenly a slender, gloved hand gently touched his hands, fingers working their way around his tight grip and loosening it until, when he let go, it could intertwine with his fingers and hold on gently. It was Zoe's hand. Small and delicate, but marked with callouses and scars. He looked over at her, but she was not looking at him even as she held his hand. You couldn't see those marks now with her hands gloved.

His mind, desperate to escape the present, remembered a place that he has stopped in once, very briefly, on his way to Farthen Dur. It had been a desperate ride, but he could still recall the soft ground, the gently gurgling stream and the young aspen trees. They had just crossed the desert and their small campsite in the middle of that country had been deeply soothing. He had felt then, and still did, that if he could choose anywhere to live it would be there. Things were wild, untouched and unfettered.

Yes, he thought with a small smile as he gripped Zoe's hand, that bit of open, wild country had been a good place. It was a good memory and, despite the awfulness of the war approaching and the landscape around them, he could remember it with ease and take comfort in it. He knew what waited for them, but he ignored it. Looking back to the Empire just as Zoe was, he allowed himself to take comfort in the warm grip and imagine that they were there. That the wind was blowing and the world was bright. The sky was clear and an eggshell blue while the long grass waved and rippled like the ocean.

They were somewhere else…

* * *

><p><strong><em>Big thank you to everyone who had readreview/followed/favorite this story! You are all awesome! _**

**_Review Replies:_**

**_silverhawk88: Thank you! Yes it has been a while since I started this thing! Hmmm...I think next chapter will be fairly canon until the end when you will get a nice BIG cliff hanger! lol oh and Roran will be making an entrance to next chapter as well. Ah yes :) Thorn and Murtagh...that will be very fun but, again, probably not for two chapters or so unless I do really big ones! I will try to keep the wait short! Hope you enjoy this rather 'fillerish' chapter..._**

**_The Dying Titan: haha I am glad you enjoy this story! Sometimes it can be hard to keep all the little threads of it going and long updates make that worse because people forget - so I am trying to shorten up the wait! Hope you enjoy this chapter to. _**

**_Skoilr: awe thank you! Hope you enjoy this one to and the wait shouldn't be that bad for the next one either! It is so awesome to know that Zoe's story is enjoyed by so many different people! Happy reading and writing! _**

**_Chris: hahha a new planet...oh that had me laughing so hard! It would be total epic-ness (maybe I need to do a one shot of that...!)...Oh thank you :) I try to take a reasonable amount of time, but then there is procrastination and no writing happens! ah the joys of cleaning one's bedroom! it never stays organized for long I find! lol :) brothers and internet connections...sounds terribly familiar! I know the feeling :) Thank you again for your awesome reviews!_**

**_Nimtheriel: Thank you! I find the battles so darn challenging to write...but it should be fun to! I am glad you liked the little bit of fluffy meeting romance between Z and M! ahhh...well you never know about Hrothgar! I try to keep you guys guessing...thank you again and I hope you like this chapter to!_**

**_guitarmorseknopfler: another chapter for you! Hope you like it :) and thank you for the review! _**

**_live laugh play music: ohhh something will happen! Never fear and it will be more then 'bashing swords' and yelling. lol That will be next chapter I promise you and hopefully I can get that one to you soon!_**

**_peachycupcake: yes that was a long update :) thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

**_Getsuhimesama: Thank you! :) hope you enjoy this new chapter! _**

**_Firehawk242: You will just have to keep reading and answer all your questions...and yes Zoe does know how to make an entrance. :) as much as she hates to admit she does have a dramatic flair! lol Thank you for reading and reviewing! Hope you enjoy all the chapters!_**


	61. Chapter 62

Memories got me through that night on the Burning Plains of Alagaesia.

Memories and Murtagh's warm grip that never loosened or let go. We pretended we hadn't argued in the face of what was coming.

My mind, desperate to escape the grimness of our situation, brought memories across my vision. As I held Murtagh's hand I remembered and pretended that I was somewhere else. I am good at pretending. I have always been good at imaging I was something or someone or somewhere else. Sitting beside Saphira I did just that. I pretended. Because I am, deep down, a coward who would rather pretend then face reality.

I would rather not face the world like a brave warrior but hide from it in the past. The warmth of my memories and Murtagh's hand was far more important to me than anything else right then. It was more important than saving my home, destroying a mad King or honor – honor wasn't even in the game for me.

As I look at the dark and twisting roads before me, this isn't the easiest one but it is the obvious one and I have to walk it. I try not to tell lies and stick to the story I see forming around me. I have tried to tell myself the truth and I will try to see the truth in the gruesome battle that is coming. I will try not to hate myself because of my ruthless ability on the battle field. I'm still human. I must believe this. Whatever happens tomorrow, and many things could happen, I must remember that I am not a monster who is uncaring of the lives around me. I know that whatever my actions might say, I hate the fighting and killing.

_The soothing breeze of summer entered through my balcony doors. The summer sunlight, warm and golden, washed over my bedroom and made the inkwell on my desk reflect it into a rainbow of colors. It was summer solstice and celebrations were in full swing around Caer Daythl. I was dressed in a gown of pale cream; the dress was light and elegant with embroidered patters of silver threads. My long, dark hair had been braided back, tiny silver beads thread along the strands. My silver circlet lay on its opened cushioned box on my desk – I did not need it that day. Later that night I would when a formal celebration was held, but that day I was celebrating with family. _

_Turning away from the open doors, I left my room and walked towards the small sitting room where my family would gather when all of us were in one place – something that rarely happened these days. My cousins from the coast would be there, my brothers, sisters, and my parents to._

_My feet were light upon the floor as I made my way to the happy celebration that I did not want to miss one second of..._

_Now I sat with a young child, his eyes looking at me with wide innocence. He was sitting on my lap in a simple Ranger cabin somewhere far in the wilderness. "Do you have any fears?" _

_I thought of the fears that I could say. The almost childish fears, easily bottled, you could not knock them on the head or laugh at them or ignore them. So I settled for the complete truth. _

_"Being alone," I said quietly even as I winced a little at the simplicity and nakedness of the confession. What did I mean? For there is being along and then there is alone. "I fear being completely and utterly alone with anything to guide or anyone to trust." _

_"Have you ever been like that?" asked the little boy softly. His eyes were wide, but he did not falter in his gaze. _

_"Once," I whispered into his dark hair even as my voice became heavier with the memory. "I have never forgotten it." _

_"I hope," said the boy suddenly as he burrowed more deeply into my arms, "that you never experience that again." He looked up with me with such complete understanding and hope that I felt myself melt into his large eyes. _

_I couldn't help but smile a little at his words. "Thank you," I murmured, "I hope that to…"_

The first rays of dawn already streaked across the land when the time came.

Eragon suddenly surged to his feet and that was all the warning we needed to spring into action.

A surge of adrenalin erasing our sleepiness as we all readied for the moment we had spent an entire night waiting for. Swiftly tightening Melynlas's girth I took a moment to stroke her soft coat and cast a few wards, different from Eragon's in their structure, around the pair of us and I looped Murtagh into them. They would not stop all attacks, but they would stop many and I could keep them up for far longer than one that was as hard as a brick wall. I did not bother to extend my wards to anyone else for Eragon, Saphira and Arya were already heavily warded and it would be a waste of precious energy.

This would be a long battle.

I mounted and drew my bow out. The silvery weapon was warm and smooth beneath my fingers, comforting in its familiar feel. Beneath me, dancing on the spot, Melynlas tossed her head and let out a shrill whinny that was answered by Tornac. The two had become rather attached to each and neither wanted to be far from the other.

The plan was this: we would stay beside Eragon and the Kull. The few dwarves that had remained with the Varden would also fight beside us. I think they liked the idea of defending the Rider, dragon and, who knows, maybe the ambassador? Arya, fighting on foot, had pulled herself up behind Eragon on Saphira's saddle. She, it seemed, would stay with us to and I was glad for her company on this day.

Moving quickly and as silently as we could, the Varden hurried down the breastwork until we reached the opening that had been cleared during the night. The Varden poured through the gap, quiet as they could be. Rank upon rank of warriors marched past, their armor and weapons padded with rags so no sound would alert the Empire of their approach. Our small group joined the procession when Nasuada appeared on a roan charger in the midst of the men, Trianna by her side. We acknowledged each other with quick glances, nothing more. What words, spoken out loud or mentally, could be said now?

I felt my heart speed up as we left the camp behind. I was remembering other battles and the adrenalin was making my senses tingle as they went into overdrive. My magic burned within me and I gripped my bow all the tighter with one hand. For a brief moment I wished desperately that one of my brothers or cousins was beside me sending me worried looks and, if they were Eomund or Taren, maybe cracking one or two bad jokes.

During the night, the mephitic vapors had accumulated low to the ground, and now the dim morning light gilded the turgid clouds, turning them opaque. The ground was slightly soft and muffled the sounds of the horse's hooves. Thus, the Varden managed to cross three-quarters of the no-man's-land before they were seen by the Empire's sentries. We managed that and then, just as we drew close enough to fire arrows into the edge of the Empire's camp, we were spotted. Darn it.

As the alarm horns rang out before them, Nasuada shouted, "Now, Eragon! Tell Orrin to strike. To me, men of the Varden! Fight to win back your homes. Fight to guard your wives and children! Fight to overthrow Galbatorix! Attack and bathe your blades in the blood of our enemies! Charge!" She spurred her horse forward, and with a great bellow, the men followed, shaking their weapons above their heads.

Ah there is something about loosening your horse's reins, fitting an arrow to your bow and charging forward with no chance of turning around that makes one feel like you are on an energy-high like no other. It is half terror and half adrenalin. You are experiencing everything as if you have never experienced it before; the world is bright and clear. You are terrified, but that is forgotten in the heat of the moment because you have no more time to think of fear or any other emotion.

I was glad the wait was over and that this battle would be started, fought and then decided. My horse was glad to. She sprang forward eagerly, beside her Tornac was urged on by Murtagh.

I heard Eragon convey orders to Orrin's magician through the mental link that bound me to the Rider and would serve as my connection both to him and the rest of the Varden's magicians tied in. Brom was a part of it to, delivering orders at that very second from his place in the command tent, and so was Murtagh. as well as Arya. A moment later, the sounds of drumming of hooves reached my ears as Orrin and his cavalry— accompanied by the rest of the Kull, who could run as fast as horses — galloped out of the east. They charged into the Empire's flank, pinning the soldiers against the Jiet River and distracting them long enough for the Varden to cross the remainder of the distance between them without opposition.

It was a good plan. I had no part in creating this battle plan, but had been relieved to hear about from Brom. For many lives can be saved in the start of a battle if one engages correctly. Where do these thoughts come from? Why am I speaking to you of that? I do not know. My mind is strange right now and my thoughts don't seem to be connected to my body. I am thinking random things, saying them and, at the same time, riding a galloping horse straight towards an army triple the size of the one I belonged to.

Everything seems so impossibly slow. Each fleet stride of my mare seems to take minutes not blinding seconds and the arrow I fire into the mass of Empire men seems to take forever to reach the apex of its flight before burying itself into the soldiers.

Men were shouting their battle cries to the sky, horses neighed and the sounds of swords being drawn, arrows knocked and spears lowered mixed with the cracking of flags.

We were almost there. Soon, too soon, those drawn weapons would be stained red with blood and battle cries would change to screams. Beside me was Murtagh and then the armored sides of Saphira with her two passengers.

I could see the faces of the Empire soldiers. They looked pale and frightened. Those were not warriors, I thought coldly, but the faces of men who had little to no fighting experience. These were men wrenched away from their homes and families, passed a weapon and told they had to fight or face consquences. Part of me may have felt pity for them and wished they would turn and run, but it had been left behind in Melynlas's gallop. There was no room for pity now and, while later I would grieve for them the best way I could, I had to fight for my life now.

Now we were right there.

Then…

The sound was the loudest thing. As the two armies collided a deafening roar was loosed. Pikes clashed against spears, hammers against shields, swords against helms, and above it all whirled the hungry gore-crows driven into frenzy by the smell of fresh meat below.

War is war. There is nothing glorious about it. Nothing I can add to the countless descriptions. Do you think of them as they are in games? Perhaps dozens of tiny figurines moving in straight lines across a flat landscape? Two groups of people advancing at each other across a flat expanse of land with expressions of determination, hope and grimness on their faces? Straight lines – orderly, deadly, neat are all adjectives you might use to describe that kind of battle. Have you read orderly descriptions that make it sound as straightforward as saying 'I am your enemy now die'?

No battle is like that.

This battle was nothing like that either.

This was chaos, a melee of shouting and movement, and the landscape wasn't flat but a mess of mud and blood churned into a thick, unstable paste. Fire burst from the ground in random places, cooking men in their armor. There was no side. The battle just began as if we had run by accident from a deserted side street into the middle of a city square – suddenly there were crowds surging around us, swords flashing and Saphira roaring as she let out giant tongues of flame.

And there were men – men from both sides everywhere, and it is hard to describe the sounds. It is hard to describe what it feels like to wield a bow and then a sword or how it felt to be connected mentally - doing battle against magicians in your head - either. I could only see my friends and they looked like I must look – faces fixed in grim snarls or frowns and their eyes burning with adrenalin.

Almost immediately, as we clashed against the Empire, I felt my wards drawing upon my strength as they deflected arrows that came within a foot's radius of me. Because I fought with Saphira and Eragon we held back from the leading edge of the battle, for they would be too exposed to Galbatorix's magicians at the front.

You could see when Eragon or Arya killed a magician and then men he was guarding with one of the twelve words of death. A whole knot of men would go limp and the Varden would let loose a cheer. As the fight continued, I followed their example and added my own mental skill to Eragon's invisible duel with Galbatorix's magicians. My power seemed to go unnoticed by them and I was able to slip around and inside their wards to take control and destroy them. I hated it, but I did it.

You don't think in battle.

You act.

The Empire wasted no time after our initial assault to start manning their engines of war: catapults that cast round missiles of hard-baked ceramic, trebuchets armed with barrels of liquid fire, and ballistae that bombarded the attackers with a hail of arrows six feet long. The ceramic balls and the liquid fire caused terrific damage when they landed. One ball exploded against the ground not ten yards from Saphira.

The engines soon stalled the Varden's advance, sowing mayhem wherever they aimed. It was time to destroy them. Dropping Melynlas back a little so that I was shielded both by dwarves and Kull, I focused on the ground beneath the nearest catapult. A spell already flying to my lips and, whispering it quickly, I felt my magic flowing through the air and sinking into the hot ground beneath the wooden structure. Focusing hard, I completed the spell and watched, with satisfaction, as the ground, already hot with buried fire, suddenly blazed up. The wooden catapult caught on fire and the fire spread a little, jumping from Empire soldier to soldier before it finally lost its strength.

I smiled - victorious. It hadn't even taken that much energy and had, if I don't say so myself, neatly circumvented the many wards that must have been placed into the engines. But then, once more, I turned my attention back to the physical battle being fought around me. Raising my sword once more, I flashed Murtagh a tight grin and he nodded before we engaged once more. Eragon had fully entrusted the welfare of his body to us as both he and Arya hunted magicians and eliminated the numerous wards cast over the Empire's army.

At some point Nasuada appeared before us, her face streaked with filth and gore, her shield covered with dents, blood sheeting down her left leg from a wound on her thigh. "Eragon," she gasped. "I need you, both of you, to fight, to show yourselves and embolden the men… to frighten the soldiers."

Her condition visibly shocked Eragon. "Let me heal you first," he cried, but the lady would not listen to him.

"No! I can wait, but we are lost unless you stem the tide of soldiers." Her eyes were glazed and empty, blank holes in her face. "We need… a Rider." She swayed in her saddle. I nudged my mare forward and rested a hand on shoulder to help steady her.

Eragon saluted her with Zar'roc. "You have one, my Lady."

Meeting her gaze firmly, I said, "Get back Nasuada. You are not this kind of warrior." She flashed me a blank look, but her gaze focused on the Rider as if I had not spoken.

"Go," she said, "and may what gods there are watch over you." She was leaning heavily against my hand and her face was too pale.

I let out a frustrated groan and grabbed her horse's bridle. The war stallion snapped his teeth angrily at me, but I was in no mood to deal with him. Melynlas backed me with an angry squeal and, with a quick glance to Murtagh, I proceeded to ignore both horse and rider and drag them back a few lines into the relative safety of the Varden's lines.

"Stay here!" I told her and my voice echoed with sharp command as if I was commanding one of my own soldiers and not the lady whose army I had allied myself with.

"Zoe," she said and looked ready to argue, but I did not give her time to answer for, with a flicker of searching thought, I found Jormunder, ordered him to watch and protect his lady, and was gone. My mare springing forward once more with a final squeal in the direction of Nasuada's bad tempered war horse while Jormunder, bless the man, appeared at that very second.

I fought my way back to Saphira's side where Eragon had dismounted so he could face his enemies head on. He had taken up Saphira's right paw with Arya beside him and I took up a place on the left alongside dwarves, Kull and Murtagh. Saphira had taken to letting out great jets of flame that consumed dozens of soldiers, leaping from them to others further back and making the soldiers run backwards to try and evade the hungry flames. Her brilliant scales glittered like stars and, no doubt, we made a formidable team.

We were a sensational team really.

Any who stood before our small group died. We were the terrors of the battle field, the ones that made the enemy soldiers before us cower and break ranks. The metallic scent of blood clogged the air, and curtains of smoke wafted over the Burning Plains, alternately concealing and revealing the knots, clumps, ranks, and battalions of thrashing bodies. Overhead, the carrion birds waited for their meal and the sun climbed in the firmament toward noon.

Like I said, we were sensational.

True, the Empire never faltered or fell back. But we did a jolly good job. We exceeded the standards of excellence and we did it without even thinking. My brothers would have been proud to see how I fought and I was proud to see how Eragon, once so inexperienced, fought. I was proud how we kept going even though many would have said we were fighting a losing fight.

It was sometime after our third charge through the Empire's ranks that Eragon contacted me. _A ship is coming up the Jiet River. Saphira and I must deal with it. _

_Very well,_ I said and then, knowing exactly who would be on that ship, _make sure they are not enemies before you set them on fire. _

_Why? _

_GO FIND OUT! _

I can't help it if I yelled at him, but I was not exactly in the right place to talk to him like that. I slashed my sword across the chest of a man and did not bother looking up as Saphira launched herself off the ground and into the sky.

The sun began its descent towards evening. The day was winding down, but still we fought and I ignored the bruises that accumulated over my body. A cut on my left shoulder burned whenever I had to stretch that arm and I knew that, sooner or later, I would have to do something about it or risk dying from slow blood loss. Sometime in the middle of the battle when we had retreated, I had dismounted from Melynlas and told her to return to Brom. The mare had been reluctant to leave, but I had convinced her and she had made it safely back to the Varden's camp. If I died this day my horse would still live.

Spinning my blade I grabbed a Varden soldier's arm and wrenched him out of the way of a sword that would have killed him. Pushing him behind me I killed the holder of said Empire sword and, for a brief minute, we were rewarded a lull in the fighting. He was not the first soldier I had saved, but he was the first that actually found the breath and time to say what he said.

The man I had saved was panting and his face very pale, but he managed a small grateful smile. "Thank you," he said, "thank you for…" he stopped and realized who I was. "You are the lady," he said with sudden amazement, "the lady who came with the Rider and fought in Farthen Dur."

"Yes," I said and I struggled to regain my breath. "Yes."

"It is an honor to fight with you," said the man and he clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Anyway. Thank you. For fighting with us. For saving me."

Then he was swept away and I had to struggle to return to Murtagh and the others so that I did not have to fight alone. I didn't know that man, had never seen him, but he knew me. He knew I wasn't of the Varden, but that hadn't mattered. He had thanked me, thanked me for fighting. This was my battle to, and I was needed here just as the strange lady had told me when she pulled me away from my home. My fight might not be known only to a few, select few, but that didn't matter anymore. This was one fight. You are part of it to and everyone - even if they do not know of it - in all worlds is part of it.

I was tired. I was injured. But I was not alone and I felt a new surge energy rise up inside of me and crackle through my magic. Once more I lost myself in the fight, the death and the endlessness of it all, but I did so with new hope and new determination.

I heard a shout rise up then. A trumpet sounded in the east, loud and clear. I had last heard that horn blow in the hollow inside of a city mountain where, like it did now, it resonated deep with the ground and echoed through the smokey air.

"The dwarves!" shouted someone. "The dwarves are here!"

It was taken up by the Varden and became a chant. "The dwarves are here! The dwarves are here!" The Empire seemed to fall back and I saw expressions of fear and surprise on the faces of the Empire soldiers.

I could not stop crying out in joy and, beside me; Murtagh let loose a wild cry that was joined by the dwarves and even the Kull. For, marching out of the east like a rising sun of hope, marched a great host. At its head strode King Hrothgar, clad in gold mail, his jeweled helm upon his brow, and Volund, his ancient war hammer, gripped in his iron fist. I wondered if good ol' Orik was beside him. I wanted to see that dwarf. Another reason not to be killed, I suppose.

Turning on my heel I raised my sword and cried out to the tired faces of the Varden. "The dwarves are here! Take heart! We shall win this day! NOW FIGHT!" My words, enhanced with magic, rippled across the many heads of struggling men. They sounded, for a brief moment to my ears, like words shouted by my eldest brother.

They sounded right. They sounded like the person I wanted to be.

The men looked to me and started cheering, rallying the last of their strength and gathering around me. But there was no time to think about this. Who really cares if the ways of a queen have not left me yet? I was going to fight to the very end.

The very end.

And we would win.

Bloody hell we would win.

* * *

><p>Roran Stronghammer stood at the prow of the <em>Dragon Wing <em>and listened to the oars swish through the water. He had just finished a stint rowing and a cold, jagged ache permeated his right shoulder. It was a remnant of an injury delivered by the Ra'zac and he wondered if he would always have to deal with it whenever he overtaxed the arm. He wiped the sweat from his face and ignored the discomfort, concentrating instead on the river ahead, which was obscured by a bank of sooty clouds.

Elain, a woman from Carvahall, joined him at the railing. She rested a hand on her swollen belly. "The water looks evil," she said. "Perhaps we should have stayed in Dauth, rather than drag ourselves in search of more trouble."

He feared she spoke the truth. They had traveled many miles through death and loss and pain, but they had reached Surda in the end. By the time they made landfall in the port city Duath, their stores were exhausted and the villagers sickly.

Roran had every intention of staying in Dauth, especially after they received an enthusiastic welcome from its governor, Lady Alarice. But that was before he was told about Galbatorix's army. If the Varden were defeated, he would never see Katrina again. He needed to see her again. He needed her again for she was the light of his life, the thing that kept him going even when he had reached the end of his strength. So, with the help of Jeod of Teirm, he convinced many of the other villagers that if they wanted to live in Surda, safe from the Empire, they had to row up the Jiet River and assist the Varden. It was a difficult task, but in the end Roran prevailed. And once they told Lady Alarice about their quest, she gave them all the supplies they wanted.

Since then, Roran often wondered if he made the right choice. By now everyone hated living on the _Dragon_ _Wing. _People were tense and short-tempered, a situation only aggravated by the knowledge they were sailing toward a battle. Was it all selfishness on my part? wondered Roran. Did I really do this for the benefit of the villagers, or only because it will bring me one step closer to finding Katrina?

Besides, waiting for them at the Varden, was a person he both longed to see and never wanted to see again. His cousin. Who - according to all the rumors in Surda - was a fearsome Rider, a warrior of unparalleled skill. He did not know that Eragon. He did not even know what he would do if he saw him. All he knew was Eragon would help him rescue Katrina. That was all he knew when it came to the cousin he hadn't seen in months and who was responsible for this entire mess. He didn't know what he would say or what kind of reaction Eragon would have towards him, but he had a goal. Eragon would never atone for all that he had done to Roran and Carvahall but he could save Katrina.

"Perhaps we should have," he said to Elain and he could not stop a note of doubt entering his voice.

_Perhaps I am a fool and blind to others because of my desperation…_

Together they watched as a thick layer of smoke gathered overhead, darkening the sky, obscuring the sun, and filtering the remaining light so that everything below was colored a nauseating hue of orange. It produced an eerie twilight the likes of which Roran had never imagined. The sailors on deck looked about fearfully and muttered charms of protection, pulling out stone amulets to ward off the evil eye.

"Listen," said Elain. She tilted her head. "What is that?"

Roran strained his ears and caught the faint ring of metal striking metal. "That," he said, "is the sound of our war." Twisting, he shouted back over his shoulder, "Captain, there's fighting just ahead!"

"Man the ballistae!" roared Uthar. "Double-time on those oars, Bonden. An' every able-bodied man jack among you better be ready or you'll be using your guts for pillows!"

Roran remained where he was as the _Dragon Wing _exploded with activity. Despite the increase in noise, he could still hear swords and shields clanging together in the distance. The screams of men were audible now, as were the roars of some giant beast. Was that, he wondered, a dragon? Was that the sound of the creature that had Galbatorix send his most dangerous servants all the way to Carvahall?

He glanced over as Jeod joined them at the prow. The merchant's face was pale, but there was a spark of excitement in his eyes as he looked forward.

"Have you ever been in battle before?" asked Roran. The young man knew nothing of this kind of fight, all he knew was short, brief fights. This was nothing like this.

The knob in Jeod's throat bobbed as he swallowed and shook his head. "I got into plenty of fights along with Brom, but never anything of this scale." The man glanced at Roran and then said with a faint attempt at a smile, "I wonder if that old man is up there. I would like to see him again and maybe meet the young woman he spoke so highly of."

Roran remembered Joed mentioning something of a girl traveling with Brom and Eragon, but the merchant had known little beyond that she had traveled with his cousin for a time, fought in Farthen Dur and then left for Du Weldenvarden as an ambassador for both the dwarves and the Varden. She sounded like a powerful figure in the games being played around them but precious little was known about her. Her name hadn't even been included in the letter Jeod had received from the new leader of the Varden, Nasuada daughter of Ajihad.

"A first for both of us, then." His hands tightened on the wooden railing of the ship as he thought of the men that he had killed. This would be a thousand times worse than that for, at that exact moment, he could count the number of deaths on his hands, but that wouldn't be true in a battle like this. He would lose track and all he would remember was blood, white faces and death. Death and more death. It made him feel sick.

The bank of smoke thinned on the right, providing them with a glimpse of a dark land that belched forth fire and putrid orange vapor and was covered with masses of struggling men. It was impossible to tell what men were from the Empire and what men were from the Varden but it was apparent to Roran that the battle could tip in either direction given the right nudge. Could they give that nudge? Could he - a farm boy - become a warrior just as his cousin had become a legend?

In the end he knew he couldn't.

He would fight and fight until the end, but it was not for freedom or victory. Those were defiant, bright and brilliant things that he could not understand because, in the end, his feet were firmly planted on the ground. He was prepared to go sleepless and starving and die on a field of battle for the girl he loved. Katrina was his light and she would need a safe home – he would fight for that. He would sacrifice everything for her, but he could take no comfort in glory or any of the grand words flung about in stories like honor. It was in the memory of copper curls glinting in the sunlight, a fair voice raised in merriment and a stolen kiss on a winter's day that made him stand his ground. It was because of her that he was here, that he even considered doing what he was doing and, because of her, he would never ever back down until he had no breath left in his lungs.

Then a voice echoed over the water as a man shouted, "A ship! A ship is coming up the Jiet River!"

"You should go below decks," said Roran to Elain. "It won't be safe for you here." She nodded and hurried to the fore hatchway, where she climbed down the ladder, closing the opening behind her. A moment later, Horst bounded up to the prow and handed Roran a shield.

"Thought you might need that," said Horst.

"Thanks. I—"

Roran stopped as the air around them vibrated, as if from a mighty concussion. There was no time to do anything, everyone had frozen and the sails snapped with the force of air.

_Thud. _

His teeth jarred together. The boat rocked on the dark water.

_Thud._

His ears hurt from the pressure. He raised his gaze to the sky and felt as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff and was about to go tumbling off.

Close upon the heels of the second impact came a third— _thud—_ and with it a raw-throated yell that Roran recognized, for he had heard it many times in his childhood. He looked up and beheld a gigantic sapphire dragon diving out of the shifting clouds. And on the dragon's back, at the juncture between its neck and shoulders, sat his cousin, Eragon.

Eragon.

But not the Eragon he remembered. It was as if an artist had taken his cousin's base features and enhanced them, streamlined them, making them both nobler and more feline. This Eragon was garbed like a prince, in fine cloth and armor—though tarnished by the grime of war—and in his right hand he wielded a blade of iridescent red as if it was an extension of his arm. This Eragon, Roran knew, could kill without hesitation. This Eragon was powerful and implacable…This Eragon could slay the Ra'zac and their mounts and help him to rescue Katrina. This Eragon demanded respect and loyalty. He seemed to have stepped from the pages of a fairy tale. This was a leader, a commander, and someone who would not be swayed by passion or revenge, perhaps, a cousin's words for vengeance.

A legend brought to life through some strange twist of fate.

He did not know this Eragon. How could he know this Rider?

Flaring its translucent wings, the dragon pulled up sharply and hung before the ship. It hung in midair and its large blue eyes focused on him with an intensity that made Roran feel like prey caught in a predator's gaze.

Then Eragon met Roran's eyes.

To Roran's embarrassment he could barely hold that deep, piercing gaze that seemed to strip Roran of every defense he had. It was a struggle to meet the eyes of the cousin he had once thought of as an annoying, amusing and earnest little brother. For, in the person before him, there was no sign of a farm boy.

Until that moment, Roran had not completely believed Jeod's story about Eragon and Brom. He had not believed that his cousin had killed a Shade, escaped from prison, traveled with a son of the Forsworn and done hundreds of other insane things. Now, as he stared at his cousin, a wave of confused emotions washed over him. _Eragon is a Rider! _It seemed inconceivable. But it was true and he knew that this was his cousin even though little remained of the boy he had once been. Perhaps Eragon did not even recall his days spent in Palancar Valley.

As the two stared at each other, Roran could find no words to describe the roiling mess of emotions the meeting stirred within him. Seeing Eragon alive again filled Roran with unexpected joy. Yet, at the same time, a terrible, familiar anger welled up inside him over Eragon's role in Garrow's death and the siege of Carvahall. In those few seconds, Roran knew not whether he loved or hated Eragon.

He stiffened with alarm as a vast and alien being touched his mind. From that consciousness emanated Eragon's voice: _Roran? _Even the voice had changed. It had become smoother and held no trace of a country accent.

"Aye."

_Think your answers and I'll hear them. Is everyone from Carvahall with you? _

_Just about. _

_How did you… No, we can't go into it; there's no time. Stay where you are until the_ _battle is decided. Better yet, go back farther down the river, where the Empire can't_ _attack you. _

_We have to talk, Eragon. You have much to answer for. _

Eragon hesitated with a troubled expression, and then said, _I know. But not now, later. _

There was no arguing with the firmness in that reply and Roran found himself resenting it. But there was no time to say anything else for, with no visible prompting, the dragon veered away from the ship and flew off to the east, vanishing in the haze over the Burning Plains.

In an awed voice, Horst said, "A Rider! A real Rider! I never thought I'd see the day, much less that it would be Eragon." He shook his head. "I guess you told us the truth, eh, Longshanks?" Jeod grinned in response, looking like a delighted child.

Their words sounded muted to Roran as he stared at the deck, feeling like he was about to explode with tension. A host of unanswerable questions assailed him. He forced himself to ignore them. No words could even come close to describing how he felt right then. _I can't think about Eragon now. We have to fight. The_ _Varden _must _defeat the Empire. _

A rising tide of fury consumed him. He had experienced this before, a berserk frenzy that allowed him to overcome nearly any obstacle, to move objects he could not shift ordinarily, to face an enemy in combat and feel no fear. It gripped him now, a fever in his veins, quickening his breath and setting his heart a-pounding.

He pushed himself off the railing, ran the length of the ship to the quarterdeck, where Uthar stood by the wheel, and said, "Ground the ship."

"What?"

"Ground the ship, I say! Stay here with the rest of the soldiers and use the ballistae to wreak what havoc you can, keep the _Dragon Wing _from being boarded, and guard our families with your lives. Understand?"

Uthar stared at him with flat eyes, and Roran feared he would not accept the orders.

Then the scarred sailor grunted and said, "Aye, aye, Stronghammer." Horst's heavy tread preceded his arrival at the quarterdeck. "What do you intend to do, Roran?"

"Do?" Roran laughed and spun widdershins to stand toe to toe with the smith. "Do?

Why, I intend to alter the fate of Alagaësia!"

For Katrina. For her and those that he loved. He would not turn away for, while he may not be a Rider or a King, he was still Roran. As strong and firm upon the ground as his father had been.

_I will see it to the end, _he thought grimly. _To the end of all things because that is all any of us can do. _

* * *

><p>Eragon barely noticed as Saphira carried him back into the swirling confusion of the battle. He had known that Roran was at sea, but it never occurred to him that Roran might be heading for Surda, or that they would reunite in this manner. And Roran's eyes! His eyes seemed to bore into Eragon, questioning, relieved, enraged… <em>accusing. <em>

In them, Eragon saw that his cousin had learned of Eragon's role in Garrow's death and had not yet forgiven him. He would never forgive, suspected the young Rider, unless Eragon could find a way to explain the entire situation. Perhaps Zoe could help him…

It was only when a sword bounced off his greaves that Eragon returned his attention to his surroundings. He unleashed a hoarse shout and slashed downward, cutting away the soldier who struck him. Cursing himself for being so careless, Eragon reached out to Trianna and said, _No one on that ship is an enemy. Spread the word that they're not_ _to be attacked. Ask Nasuada if, as a favor to us, she can send a herald to explain the_ _situation to them and see that they stay away from the fighting. _

_As you wish, Argetlam. _

From the western flank of the battle, where she alighted, Saphira traversed the Burning Plains in a few giant leaps, stopping before Hrothgar and his dwarves.

Dismounting, Eragon went to the king, who said, "Hail, Argetlam! Hail, Saphira! The elves seem to have done more for you than they promised."

Beside him stood Orik and Eragon felt a small spark of happiness to see his old friend from Farthen Dur. The dwarf was clad in his familiar armor, but he sent Eragon and Saphira a wide smile that Eragon returned gladly.

"No, sir, it was the dragons."

"Really? I must hear your adventures once our bloody work here is done."

"I agree."

Hrothgar laughed, then turned to Saphira and said, "I still haven't forgotten your vow to mend Isidar M ithrim, dragon. Even now, our artisans are assembling the star sapphire in the center of Tronjheim. I look forward to seeing it whole once again."

She bowed her head. _As I promised, so it shall be. _

After Eragon repeated her words, Hrothgar reached out with a gnarled finger and tapped one of the metal plates on her side. "I see you wear our armor. I hope it has served you well."

_Very well, King Hrothgar, _said Saphira through Eragon. _It has saved me many an_ _injury. _

Hrothgar straightened and lifted Volund, a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. "Well then, shall we march out and test it once again in the forge of war?" He looked back at his warriors and shouted, "Akh sartos oen dûrgrimst!"

"Vor Hrothgarz korda! Vor Hrothgarz korda!"

Eragon looked at Orik, who translated with a mighty yell, "By Hrothgar's hammer!" Joining the chant, Eragon ran with the dwarf king toward the crimson ranks of soldiers, Saphira by his side.

Now at last, with the help of the dwarves, the battle turned in favor of the Varden.

Together they pushed back the Empire, dividing them, crushing them, forcing Galbatorix's vast army to abandon positions they had held since morn. Their efforts were helped by the fact that more of Angela's poisons had taken effect. Many of the Empire's officers behaved irrationally, giving orders that made it easier for the Varden to penetrate deeper into the army, sowing chaos as they went. The soldiers seemed to realize that fortune no longer smiled upon them, for hundreds surrendered, or defected outright and turned on their former comrades, or threw down their weapons and fled.

And the day passed into the late afternoon.

Eragon was in the midst of fighting two soldiers when a flaming javelin roared past overhead and buried itself in one of the Empire's command tents twenty yards away, igniting the fabric. Dispatching his opponents, Eragon glanced back and saw dozens of fiery missiles arcing out from the ship on the Jiet River.

What are you playing at, Roran? wondered Eragon before charging the next batch of soldiers. He had found Zoe, Murtagh and Arya somehow and he was glad for their company. His half-brother swung his sword with expert slashes while Zoe and Arya preformed an elegant dance with their enemies. Their swords flashed and, at points, they moved so quickly that it was hard to see where they had gone. Men, seeming surprised to be facing a woman, wasted precious milliseconds staring.

Soon afterward, a horn echoed from the rear of the Empire's army, then another and another. Someone began to pound a sonorous drum, the peals of which stilled the field as everyone looked about for the source of the beat. Even as Eragon watched, an ominous figure detached itself from the horizon in the north and rose up in the lurid sky over the Burning Plains. The gore-crows scattered before the barbed black shadow, which balanced motionless upon the thermals. At first Eragon thought it a Lethrblaka, one of the Ra'zac's mounts. Then a ray of light escaped the clouds and struck the figure crossways from the west.

It was a dragon.

But not any dragon Eragon had ever seen. This one was smoky grey and his wing membranes were the color of grey slate. His claws and teeth and the spikes along his spine were white as snow. His eyes were dark; there was no spark of life in them. On his back was fixed a saddle, and in that saddle sat a man garbed all in black.

Dread clutched at Eragon. What was this? The other egg had, according to Zoe, been green and this dragon was far too large to have hatched within the past few months. What was it? Something made the Rider suspect it was not a real dragon or real Rider, but something created from magic.

Then the man in steel raised his left hand and a shaft of crackling black energy sprang from his palm and smote Hrothgar on the breast. The dwarf spell casters cried out with agony as the energy from their bodies was consumed trying to block the attack. They collapsed, dead, and then Hrothgar clutched his heart and toppled to the ground. The dwarves gave a great groan of despair as they saw their king fall.

"No!" cried Eragon, and Saphira roared in protest.

He glared with hate at the enemy Rider. _I'll kill you for that. _

But Eragon also knew that, if his suspicions were correct, then this was not a real Rider. It was a foe that Eragon had never encountered before either in theory or on the battle field. He also knew that, as they were, he and Saphira were too tired to confront such a potentially mighty opponent. Glancing around, Eragon spotted a horse lying in the mud, a spear through its side. The stallion was still alive. Eragon put his hand on its neck and murmured, _Sleep, brother. _Then he transferred the horse's remaining vitality into himself and Saphira. It was not enough energy to restore all their strength, but it soothed their aching muscles and stopped their limbs from shaking.

Rejuvenated, Eragon leaped onto Saphira, shouting, "Orik, take command of your kinsmen!"

Across the field, he saw Arya gaze at him with concern while Murtagh just sent him a single look that seemed to say: Don't you dare get captured. But Zoe was nowhere in sight and that puzzled Eragon for he was sure he had seen her just a moment before the dragon. He put her out of his mind as he tightened the saddle straps around his legs. Then Saphira launched herself toward the grey dragon, pumping her wings at a furious rate to gain the necessary speed.

_I hope you remember your lessons with Glaedr, _he said. He tightened his grip on his shield.

Saphira did not answer him but roared out with her thoughts at the other dragon, _Traitor! Egg breaker, oath breaker, murderer! _Then as one, she and Eragon assaulted the minds of the pair, seeking to overwhelm their defenses. The consciousness of the Rider felt strange to Eragon, as if it contained multitudes; scores of distinct voices whispered in the caverns of his mind, like imprisoned spirits begging for release. It was not a real mind, he suddenly realized, neither the Rider nor dragon had a mind. They were made of magic, but such power to create something that seemed living stunned Eragon. How had the King managed this? The Rider and dragon were not alive, but they were real enough to fight. They were real enough to prove a dangerous challenge to the weary blue dragon and her Rider. This pair could not be harmed the way a living Rider and dragon could and Eragon suspected that defeating them would be like trying to defeat a shadow.

Impossible. Like trying to harm air.

The instant they made contact, the Rider retaliated with a blast of pure force. Eragon retreated deep behind his own barriers, frantically reciting a scrap of doggerel Oromis taught him to use in such predicaments:

_Under a cold and empty winter sky_

_Stood a wee, small man with a silver sword. _

_He jumped and stabbed in a fevered frenzy, _

_Fighting the shadows massed before him…_

The siege on Eragon's mind abated as Saphira and the grey dragon crashed together, two meteors colliding head-on. They grappled, kicking each other's bellies with their hind legs. Their talons produced hideous screeches as they grated against Saphira's armor and the grey dragon's flat scales. He managed to kick her off for a moment, then they closed again, each struggling to get their jaws around the other's neck. The grey dragon lacked living warmth - he was as dark as his slate grey scales.

It was all Eragon could do to keep hold of Zar'roc as the dragons tumbled toward the ground, battering one another with terrible blows from their feet and tails. No more than fifty yards above the Burning Plains, Saphira and the red dragon disengaged, struggling to regain altitude. Once she halted her descent, Saphira reared her head, like a snake about to strike, and loosed a thick torrent of fire.

It had no effect. The flames just washed over the pair and did nothing.

Blast it, thought Eragon. Even as the red dragon opened its maw to retaliate, Eragon cried, "Skölir nosu fra brisingr!" He was just in time. The conflagration swirled around them but did not even scorch Saphira's scales.

Now Saphira and the grey dragon raced up through the striated smoke into the clear, chill sky beyond, darting back and forth as they tried to climb above their opponent. The grey dragon nipped Saphira's tail, and she and Eragon yelped with shared pain. The dragon, grey and cold as it was, still had real enough teeth.

What was it? How did he ever defeat this creature? For, as Eragon realized with rising horror, Galbatorix just wanted to wear them down by forcing them to fight an opponent as difficult to destroy as this one. Once they were too exhausted to fight anymore...they would be taken. It filled him with anger and fear that made adrenalin burn within him. No! That would not happen. He would not let it!

Panting from the effort, Saphira executed a tight backward loop, ending up behind the dragon, which then pivoted to the left and tried to spiral up and over Saphira.

While the dragons dueled with increasingly complex acrobatics, the Rider stabbed at his consciousness once more, but the attack was not strong enough to prove any threat to Eragon. It seemed after the initial force of his attack the illusion Rider could not summon a second wave. There were some things that this illusion could not do and duel mentally for long periods of time was one of them. But that didn't stop the dragon, for it was larger and heavier then Saphira, attacking fiercely. Whatever had created the dragon and Rider knew what they were doing - making Eragon certain this was the King's personal creation and not some random conjuror.

"This must end," spat Eragon between clenched teeth. "Land, Saphira; it's no good. I'll fight him on the ground." With a grunt of weary resignation, Saphira descended to the nearest flat open area, a small stone plateau set along the western edge of the Jiet River. The water had turned red from the blood pouring into it from the battle. Only distant sounds of battle could reach them here, faint yells and the hammer of weapons. Everything felt removed, distant and the Rider was more than aware that here he could not rely on anyone to help him. Eragon jumped off Saphira once she alighted on the plateau and tested his footing. It was smooth and hard, with nothing to trip on. He nodded, pleased.

A few seconds later, the grey dragon rushed by overhead and settled on the opposite side of the plateau.

Eragon clung to that knowledge as he stepped forward to confront the Rider. As they met in the center of the plateau, Saphira and the grey dragon circled in the background. Distantly Eragon was aware that the grey dragon did not leave marks on the ground and he made no noise as he moved.

The black clothed Rider raised his sword.

And the fight between the sapphire Rider and the grey mist Rider began.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thank you to all the amazing people out there who have read and reviewed this story :) <em>**

**_Note* I am so sorry for those of you who read the first published version of this story. The ending was the rough version and, for some strange reason, had not saved my editing. This is the finished draft - with my writing and edits. SOOO sorry for that. _**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_General TheDyingTitan: oh wow! That is a lot of stories! :) glad you enjoy this one to! _**

**_Peachycupcake: I am on a roll! I also have some time right now for writing and that helps! Enjoy this new chapter :) _**

**_live laugh play music: haha another chapter! Another one should be up soon to!_**

**_chris: I hope to stay out of procrastination! ah room cleaning and moms! It never ends well lol congrats on the good grades! That does take some dedication! Hope you enjoy this new chapter...I will try to get a new one up soon-ish! oh and Roran did make an appearance in this one, but I will have Eragon actually meet him face to face and not in such a brief setting. Thank you and happy reading! _**

**_Nimtheriel: I am glad you like the Murtagh POV. No Brom is not fighting mostly because he has the egg and he is needed to help coordinate magicians. I will write a Saphira POV - it slipped my mind on this chapter but I agree that it would be very fun and very cool to have in there. I will give you a tiny hint about Murtagh and Zoe: remember time travels differently in worlds. But that is still a ways off yet! Next chapter should be up soon to! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! _**

**_spring94: Thank you! Here is another chapter and I hope you enjoy it!_**

**_Firehawk242: I am glad that things are making a little more sense! Hope you enjoy the rest of the chapters! I like Angela :) she is a very cool character! Big thank you for the review! _**

**_Skoilr: haha I am so glad you loved it! Hope to get another chapter to you soon!_**


	62. Chapter 63

I was fighting a small knot of men when I felt a presence I hadn't felt for weeks touch my mind. It was the same bright, powerful presence that had led me to Morzan's manor and given me warnings in Du Weldenvarden when I felt myself getting too comfortable. The touch on my mind was light, but demanding and, reluctantly, I allowed it entrance. Somehow I was not surprised to feel it again even though it had been silent and absent for so long.

_You must follow us, _hissed the voice_. There is no time_.

_What do you want?_ I demanded angrily remembering the last time I had followed their directions. I spun and slashed my way through the remaining soldiers before coming to a stop, briefly granted a respite. Multi-tasking with this strange, multi-something-or-other presence was not a good idea. Multi-tasking in a battle in general is just not a good idea.

_To save the sapphire dragon and Rider_, said the voice calmly. _Galbatorix has a plan to capture them and he will succeed unless you do this. _

Now that is an attention grabber if ever there was one.

I did not ask any more questions. When lives are hanging in the balance there is no time for questions, but I would make sure to ask them later. You can be assured of that.

Instead I followed their directions and ran. I ran through the battle field towards the Empire's camp. I did not pause, I did not hesitate and I was ignored by everybody as though I had suddenly become invisible. I dodged piles of bodies, holes in the ground that sprouted fire and I never stopped in my wild run towards the black tents of the Empire. I nearly fell at points and I was gasping for breath, but the voice urged me on and, for all I was wary of it, the voice had yet to lead me astray. We were reluctant allies, but I had no doubt it knew what it was talking about – if it had a destination in mind then I would get there even if I did not like it. The muddy, churned ground pulled at my boots and I had dodge pools of blood and giant craters in the ground where flames danced dangerously.

Maybe it was because I was running against the Empire soldiers or maybe because everyone was just so sick and tired of fighting, that I escaped detection. Occasionally a soldier would step in front of me and challenge me half-heartedly, but I never met any outright challengers. Did the voice have a hand in it? If it could keep me alive in Morzan's manor house then perhaps it could clear the path it had set before me. Do not do what I did unless it is a true emergency. Running straight into enemy forces in the middle of a battle when it is clear you belong to the opposite side is not only reckless, but suicidal. I didn't think about that until much later, but the sheer stupidity of it made me feel sick.

I was so focused on not falling, on following the path the voice laid out in my mind and on my purpose, that I did not notice the grey dragon with its black Rider. I had eyes for what lay before me and the ground that was so treacherous – nothing more. Yes, I did hear the roars above me, but I was too focused to pay them much mind in fact they only added to my urgent run. The voice was speaking to me, telling me where to go and what to avoid, and it was hard enough without adding fear for my friend. Call me oblivious, but I truly never realized just what magical creation had been set upon us by the King.

I would find out later. I would find out just why I had to make that daring run across the Burning Plains, but at the time there was no room for anything but my purpose. Later on I would tell everyone what I had been doing during those crucial minutes and, when I found out just what Eragon and Saphira had faced, I would understand. But, at that time, I had no need for understanding. I just needed to act.

Suddenly I came to a sliding stop in front of the numerous defenses that the Empire had erected around its camp. From what I could see and sense with my mind the entire city of black tents was deserted on this end and, with no sentry to spot me, I slipped and jumped my way through the elaborate breastwork. There were some hairy moments such as when my hand, made slick with blood that still dripped from a wound in my shoulder, slid off a pole and nearly sent me tumbling into a trench filled with sharpened stakes.

I had to hold myself there for a second by one hand until I had gathered myself enough to move on. The injury dealt to my shoulder burned with pain and I was distantly aware that the wrench of nearly falling had reopened the wound.

But I got past it all. Because that is what you do when your friends might be captured – you don't have a choice and you do it without thinking. It wasn't great heroism on my part or even a conscious choice. It was Eragon and Saphira. That was enough to make me do anything. I told you before this battle that I am coward. I really am and if I slowed down at all and actually thought then I would have been frozen with fear.

_Now what? _

_You need to get to the center of camp. There you will find a single magician. Destroy him and we will instruct you what to do next. _

I like clear directions – they make it easy to do things. It can also mean when you mess them up you feel like an even bigger idiot with no one to blame for not giving you clear directions. I guess fighting in a battle makes me a negative, pessimistic, touchy girl doesn't it? Or maybe just this entire world has had me on the fight since square one. Peace seems like a distant dream now.

So I was off running again (I am so sick of running!) and I did not pause as I past tents and the remains of cooking fires. I never paused until I came close to my final destination. Part of me found the sheer absence of anyone around me disturbing, but I could not question that now. I could sense frantic healers and wounded men with pain filled minds on the opposite side of the camp, but this part felt like a city of silent black tents. No soldiers that had hidden themselves under bedrolls rather than fight or deserters picking up their things before beating a quick retreat. The ground here was hard and dry. A soft breeze stirred the loose door flaps as I passed them and I raised my sword. It was a deserted city.

I felt as if I was walking towards a storm. A storm that was wild and destructive - something I could not easily fight free of.

At last, after getting increasingly tense and worried, I sensed another mind. It was the magician the voice had spoken of – the one I was supposed to destroy. How dramatic that sounds. To destroy him sounds like something one might read in an adventure novel. I slipped behind a nearby tent and examined my options.

I could kill him with a sword, but then he would raise the alarm and I would be swamped by enemies in no time. I was not strong in enough to risk a magical duel with a fully rested mage and he was, most likely, warded against arrows and other such flying projectiles. Such actions would not only alert him to my presence, but result in reinforcements being called in to assist the magician and I would certainly be overwhelmed. What now? How did I navigate my way around this one?

I am supposed to be clever, but I was so tired. I was so exhausted and I was desperate to get this done before my friends were captured. I leaned my body against the support pole of the tent and closed my eyes. My body was shaking and my head pounded painfully. I didn't have much left in my reserves to preform anything too complex, it had to be simple and I needed to have the answer NOW.

If I had known that Eragon and Saphira were currently fighting against something that could not be so easily defeated I would not have been able to think. I would have been so overwhelmed that I would not have been able to gather the last of my scattered thoughts and put together a semi-decent idea. But I didn't know right then and that was lucky. I was focused as much as I could be after all that had occurred that day.

When I did find the answer I found it so simple that it made me angry. I would help the magician not attack him. How? By sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep which, because I am who I am, wouldn't be that hard at all. He couldn't sense my mind – not even Durza had been able to sense my mind or break into it and this man was nowhere near as strong as Durza. In all my time in Alagaesia I had never been able answer the question of my unusually strong, slippery mental defenses that allowed me to go unnoticed.

I went to work immediately. Slipping into the magician's mind like a thief in the night, I began to soothe him. I hushed his worries, forced his orders away and made him feel that, for once, the best thing he could do was take a short nap. No one would see him, it would make doing his duty that much easier. When it came time to finish his orders he would be well rested and able to carry them out to perfection. He was just so tired. It couldn't hurt…

The second he nodded into sleep I sent a small tendril of magic towards him and deepened it into full-on dreamless slumber. It would take more than my silent footsteps to wake him now and, with another bit of enchantment, I made sure it would hold for at least a few hours. Surely that would be more than enough time. If he did wake up he would no doubt face severe punishment for his lax duty. Cough. Don't look at me like that! I was just helping him be better at his job.

_Clever…_murmured the voice in my head. _Now get inside the tent and you will find an open trunk. You must then close it. It will be hard. _

How cheery. It will be hard – oh lovely. Why not lend a hand then? After all I am the one who nearly died saving the dragon egg and seems to be your chosen sword for dangerous jobs. I set my jaw, if I ever met this voice face to face there would be words between us on how you ask people to do things and how you give effective warnings. They gave good directions, but they really needed to work on some other things.

Stepping forward cautiously, I pulled the flap of the black command tent open and held my sword at the ready. The inside of the tent was mostly bare except for a table piled high with maps, a few scattered chairs and, in the middle of the tent, an open black trunk. It was an enchanted trunk with line of carefully carved runes along the rim.

But I was barely aware of my surroundings. It wasn't because I was too exhausted, or too distracted by the voice, but because I felt as if I had just been hit by a wall of pure power, wild energy that angry, dark and fighting all the time to escape its bonds. The power emanating from that trunk overwhelmed me for a brief few, panicked, moments. I couldn't see or even think.

I retreated deep behind my own barriers, frantically trying to block myself off enough that I could escape being caught up in that web of power that emanated from the trunk. The power did not know I was there, my own mind going undetected, but I could not imagine having all of that concentrated force focused on me. It was like when Saphira or Glaedr grew angry – it was like a dragon fighting to be unleashed so it could destroy its enemies. I would never be able to withstand it. But it couldn't be a dragon…

What would happen when I closed the lid? I wondered as I gazed at the trunk. With walls as thick and hard as I could protecting my own mind and magic from the wild, furious power emanating from the trunk I was able to think clearly again and try to accomplish the task. How could I close the lid? I suspected the power within that trunk would fight me; it did not want to be locked away, but rather escape the spells that forced it to channel its power so that it could destroy everything. If it couldn't escape its bonds then it wanted to spend its all. Obviously the King had created an enchantment that was activated the moment the lid was opened and ended the moment it was closed. The spirits – or whatever they actually were – would then be able to carry out their duty without having to have the King actually there to direct them. It could be done by any magician because all that needed to happen was the lid thrown open until the Rider and dragon were captured when it could be closed once more.

He was a brilliant man. Cruel, mad, blind to the suffering of others and a tyrant in every sense of the word, but he was a brilliant spell caster and commander. I would give him that and take warning from it – sometimes the worst enemies are the ones you feel a sort of grudging respect for.

I stepped forward and slid my sword back into its sheath. I did not need it in this place. No wonder this part of the camp was deserted – even if you had no power you could still feel that something was here and it was something you should stay as far away from as possible. It was a storm, a vicious kind of storm. The magician guarding it had to be warded against the power in here so he could protect it; perhaps he was also the one who had opened the lid when the time came. This moment had been carefully planned for a time when Rider and dragon were exhausted and easier to defeat.

But there was no time. I had to do this for, once I was here, I could see how neither Eragon or Saphira would be able to stand against this power and, the longer the lid was open and this power was able to do its job, the greater the risk that Eragon and Saphira would be captured. The greater the chance I would lose not only my friends, but the key to victory. Then I would have to leave and quickly to before anyone else came along and found out what I had done.

I set my jaw and took three quick steps forward until I was looking down into the trunk. I didn't know what to expect, but I still gasped in shock and confusion. Wrapped in black cloth padded bags were round, oval objects that reminded me of the red dragon egg now in Brom's care. But these were not dragon eggs even though the feel of the power was similar to the feel of a dragon. There was no true conscious thought just emotion and many whispering voices that spoke of revenge, hate, grief, pain, loss and destruction.

I pushed the questions away. They would be answered another time.

I grabbed the lid of the heavy trunk and went to pull it closed, but one of the powers sensed me. It turned on me, seeming to scream with rage, and I had to dive behind my barriers as it pounded against them. At the same time I had to grapple with shutting off the magic that the 'things' (I don't know what they are but they are something) was releasing. It was like trying to wrestle with snakes; they wriggled and fought even as they pounded against my defenses. I couldn't see the power, but I could feel it and I struggled to control it for just long enough to close the heavy lid closed. Other presences sensed the fight being waged between me and their comrade – suddenly I had multiple 'things' beating against my mind as I fought to force them and their power back into the trunk that they viewed as a prison.

It probably didn't take as long as it felt to close the lid. Maybe a few minutes, but it felt like forever. It was because of gravity, wondrous gravity, that I was able to close the box. I had managed to get the lid to the point that, when I accidently let go, gravity took control and slammed the heavy lid closed. Got to love gravity. I am telling you – it may hold us down, but it can save our lives and sanity. It gives us weight, gives a place to start from and that is the bottom up. It may bring us all down, but it can save us to.

For a few long minutes I could not do anything.

Nothing.

I felt as if my mind had been beaten upon by hammers and I closed my eyes as a vicious headache made me groan. The second I had shut the obviously enchanted trunk lid, the power had died and I could barely sense the now quiet, but still angry, beings that were trapped within it. Sun spots danced across my closed eyelids and I dug my fingers into the hot dirt as I felt a single tear leak out. My headache deepened into a migraine and my stomach roiled.

Were they spirits? Or was my initial gut feeling of something dragon related correct? Oromis would know, I thought tiredly, or maybe Brom. I didn't and the voice wasn't offering any explanation. At this point it didn't really matter to me.

_You must hide the trunk, _said the presence in my mind. Luckily it spoke softly, but the words still made my head pound even more painfully. I felt like one giant walking universe punching bag.

_Can you help me? _I asked.

_Yes, _said the many voices that sounded like one. A small tendril of energy was extended to me and I felt my headache fade and the tremors that shook my body eased. It was enough to get me through what still needed to be done. _Sink the trunk in the ground, _said the voice.

I followed their advice and let the trunk sink a couple of feet into the ground before ending the spell and watching the ground turn hard once again. With any luck the trunk would remain hidden, buried beneath the tent, until a later time when I could retrieve it. If anyone did come looking for it they would have a terrible time for, under feet of dry dirt, any sense of the spirits contained in the trunk was extinguished.

Once the trunk was hidden, I rose from my knees and left the tent. Before I stepped outside I drew my sword and took one last steadying breath. Things were still deserted, no sign that any soldiers had returned or magicians to investigate what was going on over here. The sounds of battle had not ceased, but a gut instinct told me that we would prevail with the assistance of the dwarves. At least I hoped we would prevail and I did not wish to think of what would happen if we didn't. I couldn't bear to think of what would happen.

I needed to leave. It would be unwise to cut through the middle of the field – the most direct route – again. That had been both exceedingly dangerous and exceedingly stupid. Had I been thinking of consequences I would not have done it, but skirted around the edge of the battle. But there hadn't been time to think like that – sometimes there just isn't.

I paused for a second in my enemies' camp and looked up at the sky. There were no stars. Not a single one for me to pin my hopes on or take comfort in.

So I made my way swiftly through the camp and skirted around the battle field. The Jiet River was to my right and I tried to avoid looking at the water. It was tinged a rusty red and, occasionally, a body would float by. I could not return to the battle field. For one, from what I could see, the Varden was already winning and I was too tired to be of any use. Besides I needed to find out if Eragon and Saphira were all right and tell Brom of what I had found.

I also tried to avoid looking to my left. While the Empire's forces remained largely intact, they had conceded defeat to the Varden. As they retreated they left piles of corpses from both sides of the conflict and thick black smoke roiled off the bodies that had fallen into the peat fires. So many families would weep for those lost lives. It would take time for news to reach some, but eventually they would have to face the reality which was their son, father, husband, uncle, cousin or friend had fallen. Eventually the truth always comes out and it always hurts. Who would tell them? Would comrades take the news back with them along with the memories and scars?

At points the urgency of not only my news but my fear for my comrades would make me forget my weariness and I would run, but that never lasted long and the journey back to the Varden felt endless. It seemed that the distant camp flying the Varden's colors remained stubbornly a few miles away. Sometimes I felt a deep fear that I had not been fast enough or had not done enough…but I would quickly force those fears away. If something had happened then I would blame the voice. I would blame Galbatorix and throw my hopes onto the red dragon egg which had yet to hatch.

As I moved through the carnage, I remembered the line: we are dust and shadows. That line now haunted my thoughts as I made my way through the corpses. Dust to dust and, for those on this field, they would fade into the shadows with nary a mark on the history page to say that they had once been here. The faces of the dead men, dwarves and Urgals that I passed would be forgotten even though they had all – no matter what side – died with valor. I tried to remember their faces, imagine lives and families for them, but I gave up. It hurt too much. It made me feel too guilty. I couldn't remember all of them.

_Out, out brief candle. _

Macbeth had been honest. He might have been a traitor and easily swayed by his wife's words, but he had been honest about some things. So many lives snuffed out like little lights and I didn't even bother trying to come to terms with it. Out, out…out brief candle.

I had left the river and was crossing the last of the battle field when I saw him. He was kneeling in the dirt and I knew it was him because I would know who it was no matter what. Murtagh. I began to run towards him and cried out his name. I skirted the bodies and found myself beginning to panic.

He turned his head, but did not rise and I came to a sliding stop beside him. Dropping to my kness I scanned him for injuries, but saw nothing more serious than the one I already bore on my shoulder. His face was exhausted and his eyes searched me just as I had looked him over.

"Murtagh," I whispered as I rested a hand on his shoulder, "why are you here?"

He shrugged. "I was searching for you," he said quietly and then, suddenly, he embraced me. His arms wrapping tightly around me and I did the same. We clung to each other in the mud, blood and fire of the Burning Plains. I rested my head against his shoulder and allowed myself to relax a little, it was done. It was done.

Murtagh's grip never loosened and he seemed to be whispering something into my blood crusted hair. I couldn't hear what it was, but I didn't need to hear it. I closed my eyes and pressed my face against his shoulder. He smelled of salt and blood, and only when Murtagh's mouth came close to my ear could I hear what it was he was whispering. What he was saying as we kneeled together on the battle field, and it was the simplest litany of all: my name. He whispered it over and over again and nothing else existed. Questions could be answered and plans made later, but for now we just clung to each other and Murtaghs quiet voice, filled with desperation, grief and relief, gave me all the comfort I could have asked for.

_Zoe…_

* * *

><p>The shadow Rider grasped his sword with both hands and swung it over his head toward Eragon, who lifted Zar'roc to defend himself. Their blades collided with a burst of crimson sparks. Then Eragon shoved back his opponent and started a complex series of blows. He stabbed and parried, dancing on light feet as he forced the cloaked Rider to retreat toward the edge of the plateau.<p>

When they reached the edge, the Rider held his ground, fending off Eragon's attacks, no matter how clever. _It's as if he can anticipate my every move, _thought Eragon, frustrated. If he were rested, it would have been easy for him to defeat the Rider, but as it was, he could make no headway. But it was strange. It was like fighting a skilled warrior on second and then suddenly a novice the next. Clearly the spell or whatever had created the Rider was not quite good enough to create a true swordsman and, while at one moment Eragon would be almost outmatched, the next Eragon dominated the duel easily.

Eragon felt a touch of panic when his initial surge of energy began to subside. He had managed to slash his sword through the black cloak of the Rider, but his sword had slid through the Rider as if he was made of nothing but mist. The blow would have killed anyone – elf, human, Urgal or dwarf – easily but it didn't even slow the Rider down. The last reserves of power stored in Zar'roc's ruby and the belt of Beloth the Wise were only enough to maintain his exertions for another minute. Then the Rider took a step forward. Then another. And before Eragon knew it, they had returned to the center of the plateau, where they stood facing each other, exchanging blows.

It kept going.

On and on they fought. The mist Rider with his strange fighting style and Eragon who fought not only for vengeance, but freedom and Saphira. They dueled up and down the plateau while the two dragons, one the color of slate and one a bright shining blue, watched. Zar'roc grew so heavy in his hand, Eragon could barely lift it. His shoulder burned, he gasped for breath, and sweat poured off his face. Not even his desire to avenge Hrothgar could help him to overcome his exhaustion. There were limits and he had met his. Zoe had told him of this point once, how you just can't keep going on. She had told him that, in those moments, you know you have to keep fighting – you must – but you have nothing left to fight with.

Of all the times and enemies to have faced, thought Eragon, I had to be defeated by this one. I had to lose before I even got that far. At the first battle I am defeated and will be turned against those I love and trust.

At last Eragon slipped and fell. Determined not to be defeated lying down, he rolled back onto his feet and stabbed at the Rider, who knocked aside Zar'roc with a lazy flick of his wrist. He heard Saphira roar in fury, but there was nothing they could do. None of their training had prepared them to face a creation of magic like this and Eragon had no idea how to sever the spell that created the Rider anymore then he could have lifted his sword and kept fighting. He did not know the source nor did he have the strength to search for it, eliminate it and keep the shadow Rider occupied.

But then something happened.

It was as if the Rider, as he lifted his hand no doubt ready to cast some sort of enchantment, was suddenly frozen. Just as Eragon prepared to fight whatever magic was about to be cast, to something to save Saphira, the world suddenly seemed to freeze. They were all just about to act, the dragons about to spring at each other and the Riders about to finish their struggle. But nothing ever had a chance to happen.

Like mist being blown by a wind, the Rider blew apart. Eragon turned and looked to see the same thing happen to the dragon. It was if they suddenly grew indistinct, but fought to stay together only to suddenly flicker out. It took mere minutes and then they were gone. They left nothing, no marks upon the ground, not even the Rider's sword upon the ground. Like mist evaporating in sunlight. One minute they were there and the next they were gone.

Eragon was left gasping where he stood and looked to Saphira who had been just prepared to challenge the grey dragon once more. The two stared at each other, unsure of what to do and what to say. They had gone from fighting for their freedom to staring at each other. For a long time they didn't do anything.

Finally, Saphira acted. Her talons clicked on the stone as she crawled over to Eragon and touched him on the arm with her snout. _Are you all right, little one? _

_I'm fine_. But he was not. He had just spent the day killing and nearly been captured – nearly seen Saphira captured - and he would not be fine for a while yet. Neither would Saphira, they had never felt so desperate or so close to losing everything they had struggled for then they had felt right then.

Walking to the edge of the plateau, Eragon surveyed the Burning Plains and the aftermath of the battle, for the battle _was _over. With the assistance of the dwarves, the Varden regained lost ground and were able to rout the formations of confused soldiers, herding them into the river or chasing them back from whence they came. The vast army of conscripted soldiers had caved to the smaller, but more determined forces of the Varden.

Though the bulk of their forces remained intact, the Empire had sounded the retreat, no doubt to regroup and prepare for a second attempt to invade Surda. In their wake, they left piles of tangled corpses from both sides of the conflict, enough men and dwarves to populate an entire city. Thick black smoke roiled off the bodies that had caught on fire and, even so high up and far away from the field, Eragon could smell it.

Many had died. Many more would die.

Now that the fighting had subsided, the hawks and eagles, the crows and ravens, descended like a shroud over the field. The sky was growing dark as evening approached and, bobbing like a child's toy on the rusty red river, was a ship that contained not only his cousin but many of the figures from his childhood. What would he say to Roran? Another debt owed, another life ruined because of his actions. Not just his cousin's but all those honest, simple and loyal folk from his childhood home who hadn't deserved the trouble that Eragon had brought to them.

Would it ever end?

Eragon closed his eyes and leaned heavily against Saphira. His armor felt heavier then ever before and the many small cuts, bruises and other injuries he had picked up were aching with dull intensity. Saphira was also injured not just from the fighting earlier, but from the duel with the dragon.

They had won, but he had nearly lost. He had nearly lost her and any chance at setting things right. The memories of the battle that day would not be easily forgotten or left behind, they were things that he didn't think he could ever truly let go.

_It is over little one, _said Saphira gently. _It is over. _

_It will not be over for a long time, _he responded quietly. _We should go. Show them that we are alive. Free. _

_Agreed. _

_What if next time we aren't alive? _He couldn't help but voice the question. What if we end up in Uru'baen? What if we face this again, but we aren't granted this strange victory by fate? But he didn't voice that, it was too terrifying to even think of right then.

_Then we will worry about it when we get there. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>I am sure that many of you know what was in the trunk, but Zoe does not because she hadn't been able to finish the final book when she left Earth. Soooo she does not yet know what Eldunari are or their power - I think Brom will know exactly what they are in my version. I originally got the idea from Nasuada's torture when she had to endure illusions that seemed real but weren't - also created by the minds of the Eldunari. You can think of the grey dragon and Rider as the illusion created by the Eldunari that could fight and seemed really enough but weren't quite real enough. But, because they were illusions, could not be harmed like a normal living thing. Which is why Zoe needed to end the spell. Hope that makes sense. <strong>_

_**As always: please review! Your comments inspire me and your ideas help me come up with new paths for this story which make it more engaging. Thank you to all of you who have left a review, followed or favorite(d) or even just read this story. **_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**Nimtheriel: No I didn't get the idea from the Eragon movie :) I actually haven't watched it after being told it wasn't a very good retelling. I am sure that Murtagh/Thorn will get some fighting in before the end. I will give you a hint: remember Eragon's journey back to Du Weldenvarden? Maybe Murtagh will go with him to give Thorn a chance to grow a little before being asked to fight. As for the Trial of the Long Knives and the lack of Elva...I am working it out as I go! I will figure something out when I get there! ;) haha I actually hadn't thought of that pairing...you are giving me ideas! Big thank you and happy reading!**_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer: Got to keep you guys on your toes after all! I don't think it was that epic...but it does get some balls rolling. Thank you and hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

_**chris: ah that sounds far too familiar! Moms in general I think ;) haha I am glad I surprised you! Hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope that all this going awesome for you! **_

_**mavum: Thank you for the review! I am glad you enjoyed the fight scene - I find them sooooooooo hard too write with any kind of originality. I will confess: I read some other books that had battles in them for inspiration. **_

_**shifterofthedark: Hope you enjoy this chapter! :) **_

_**General TheDyingTitan: Hope you enjoy this chapter and that all your read is going well for you! **_


	63. Not the End

Roran walked towards the camp looking, searching.

Where was he?

Where was the person that had haunted his thoughts for such a long time and had made him feel so conflicted? Roran thought of the brief connection between them, the sight of him dressed so finely and looking so different than the person he had once been and it sent a shiver through him. For a moment, Roran wondered if he would be able to find him amongst so many strange faces. Soldiers, both human, dwarf and Urgal, passed by him in dented, blood stained armor. They ignored him, their faces haunted and dead tired.

But he would be able to. For one thing his cousin now had a giant blue dragon and, for the second, he was the Varden's hero. No doubt wherever he walked people would recognize him, speak to him and call his name.

Among these grim faced warriors he felt strange and out of place in his clothes without even a single piece of armor. They had battle ready swords, spears, bows and axes, but he had just a hammer that he had picked off a shelf in a small, isolated village. True he had fought that day, but he was neither a soldier nor even a warrior. So he hurried by them, the ground was hard underneath his boots. Not land for farming or living at all - forsaken land.

There were many other things he should be doing such as assisting the villagers with their newly assigned tents or ensuring that they had all settled in. Many other things then searching the faces of those he passed for the cousin he was not sure he even wanted to see. What would he even say when he did find him? He wanted to punch him, but then hug him. He wanted to tell him to leave them all behind from him to the villagers alone but, at the same time, wanted to drag him over to them so they could speak.

But still he searched.

Still he looked and remembered, as he did so, the epic battle between the grey dragon and the blue dragon which had then vanished from his sight when the dragons had dived behind a stony plateau. Was Eragon even now captured and on his way to the King? Was he dead and all that needed to be said between them now never to be said at all? The thought was almost unbearable, the words were so desperate to get out.

The young man groaned and cast a searching glance around him. He had finally reached the edge of the Varden's encampment and then, quite suddenly, he saw the very person he had been looking for appear. The bright blue scales of the dragon in its war tarnished armor along with the Rider were slowly approaching. Walking beside them was two other figures, one a man and the other, to Roran's surprise, a woman. All of them where dressed in fine armor and carried weapons of exceptional craft.

Eragon had clearly seen him for the small group angled over towards him and Roran froze where he stood. The differences in the Eragon he now saw and the Eragon he remembered were even more apparent now that Roran saw him face to face. This Rider, while weary and wounded, walked with an air of quiet command and assurance. His gaze was steady as he met Roran's and there was no trace of the overeager, earnest and impulsive cousin who had spent more time day dreaming then actually looking at the world. No, this Eragon was close-tongued and used to games of power where actions and words could tip the balance to one side or the other.

Roran felt a spark of anger. It was sudden and it made him clench his jaw even though it had burned long and fiercely since the day he had received news of Garrow's death and Eragon's sudden, unexplained departure. While his cousin had been running around with a dragon he had mourned his father, fought for his village and forced them to follow him. The young man did not have eyes for the dragon, the handsome dark man or the sharp-eyed woman, but for the cousin who hadn't seen fit to tell his cousin – his brother – the truth.

They came to a stop before each other and Eragon just looked at him and Roran could not stop himself. No words could come out of his mouth and he was so angry, so hurt and so…he did not even know. So he raised his fist and punched his cousin on the chin. It was the only thing he could do.

Eragon rolled away from the blow and then, as Roran glared at him, he shrugged his shoulders. "I deserved that."

Deserved it? Roran was not sure what his cousin deserved. Nothing could replace what had been lost or repay the debts that Roran felt he was owed. Forcing himself to speak even though he felt even more out of place with his gruff words when compared to his cousin's smooth syllables, "You did. We have to talk."

"Now?"

What did he expect? Next week? Roran needed this conversation, wanted to make sure that Eragon understood every single consequence that his actions had had for Carvahall.

"Yes," snapped Roran. "I need your help."

A new voice, calm and lyrical, suddenly came from behind Eragon. "We must see Nasuada and Brom, Eragon." Roran's eyes flickered to the young woman and took in her blood streaked, but fair face with grey-blue eyes that radiated cool calm even in the face of Roran's scowl. She looked at him with understanding, but also an air of urgency. "As much as you both need to speak," she continued, "we all have a responsibility to explain certain events." Her voice was firm and clear – there was no arguing with that voice or that quiet stare. Just as there was no arguing with Eragon's calm tone or the dark gaze of the young man. The dragon just gazed at Roran with those inscrutable, giant eyes.

Eragon turned and looked at the young woman, "You are right Zoe. I have not forgotten my duty."

His cousin now spoke of duty like an old friend. As if the duty he had to the entirety of Alagaesia was something he had grown used to. Another difference, another peg that further separated Roran from Eragon and made him feel as if he had been forgotten. Did the ties of family matter at all?

"The sooner," said the man, "we get it over with the sooner you and your cousin can speak." The dark eyes of the speaker looked at Roran. They were hooded eyes and the man's face, while young, bore a kind of shadow that made him seem far older.

"Why doesn't Roran accompany us?" queried the young woman with a quick glance at Roran.

Eragon glanced back at Roran with a silent question in his eyes. Roran didn't hesitate, but nodded and said, "I'll come."

He settled into step beside his cousin, the two strangers and the dragon as they traversed the pockmarked land. Glancing up at the giant blue bulk of the armored dragon, Roran asked, "This is Saphira, right? Jeod said that was her name."

"Yes," replied Eragon. Then, suddenly, he said in a low voice, "I missed you."

Roran couldn't stop his single faltering footstep and he didn't trust his voice to reply. He just looked down at the ground and avoided looking at the strange new person who had replaced his cousin. He had missed him? It was because of Eragon that Roran had become the unofficial leader of Carvahall then defended his home and killed men…and lost Katrina. Katrina! What a painful wound through his heart. It would take time before Roran could decide if he had missed Eragon or just missed the wanted the opportunity to tell him how big a mess he had created.

Saphira, lowered her head so she could stare at him with one glittering eye, the gaze was hard and demanding. She seemed to be searching him, looking beyond the surface and into his heart. It made him feel very small. When a grumbling voice with a definite feminine lilt echoed through his mind he could not stop his small cry of surprise.

_I have always wanted to meet Eragon's nest-mate. _

"You speak?" demanded Roran.

The two mostly silent companions as well as Eragon seemed to find his words terribly amusing as did Saphira. Her blue sides still shaking with rumbling laughter and flames flickering in her nostrils, Saphira addressed him directly: _What? Did you think I was as mute as a_ _rock lizard? _

Roran blinked. He tried to ignore the wide smiles on the faces of Eragon and the two battle wearied warriors. Floundering to find words that would repair any insult he had caused he said hurriedly, "I beg your pardon. I didn't know that dragons were so intelligent." A grim smile twisted his lips. "First Ra'zac and magicians, now dwarves, Riders, and talking dragons. It seems the whole world has gone mad."

"It does seem that way." Eragon glanced at the young woman and asked her, "Doesn't it Murtagh? Zoe?"

"It does," said the young man who seemed to be called Murtagh.

"I will not voice my opinion on that subject," said Zoe with a small smile.

Voicing a question and doing his best to contain his emotions, Roran asked his cousin. "I saw you fight that other Rider. Did you wound him? Is that why he fled?"

"Wait. You'll hear." The young woman, Zoe, let out a snort and she glanced quickly at Murtagh in a confusing sort of silent exchange seemed to speak volumes on some unknown subject.

When they reached the pavilion that Eragon seemed to be searching for, he swept back the flap and ducked inside, followed by Roran, Murtagh, Zoe and Saphira, who pushed her head and neck in after them. Roran stayed close to his cousin as he looked around the interior of the tent.

In the center of the tent a dark skinned lady who must be Lady Nasuada sat on the edge of the table, letting a maid remove her twisted armor while she carried on a heated discussion with and elf. The elf was covered in battle grime and she appeared to be just as weary as everyone else, but she was still fairer then any Roran had ever seen before. She seemed to release a faint ethereal glow and each of her actions was both smoother and far more graceful then any Roran had seen before. No, he wondered, he was really seeing an elf and he was really standing beside a Rider and dragon.

Standing a few feet away looking a great deal tidier and less weary then everyone else was…Brom. It had to be Brom. The old storyteller bore no resemblance to the man that Roran remembered for this Brom wore a sword at his side as if it was an old friend, his clothes were of fine make and his face looked a great deal less lined as if he had shed some of his many years. This was the man who had once been a Rider, the man that Jeod had spoken of and who had been both a rebel leader and an assassin.

Nasuada stopped in the middle of her sentence as she spotted the new arrivals. Brom let out a long exhalation of air and some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease as he spotted them. The elf lady smiled and her eyes never flickered away from Eragon as if seeing him again was more important to her than anything else.

Roran was forced backwards right then for, suddenly running toward them, Nasuada threw her arms around Eragon and cried, "Where were you? We thought you were dead, or worse."

"Not quite." His cousin embraced the leader of the Varden as friends might, Roran could not help but wonder at it.

"The candle still burns," murmured Arya.

Stepping back, Nasuada said, "We couldn't see what happened to you and Saphira after you landed on the plateau. When the red dragon left and you didn't appear, Arya tried to contact you but felt nothing, so we assumed…" She trailed off. "We were just debating the best way to transport Du Vrangr Gata and an entire company of warriors across the river."

"What of you Zoe?" asked the young leader as she quickly embraced her. Turning to Murtagh she also embraced him and asked again, "What happened to all of you?"

"Too many things," murmured Zoe under her breath and she looked to Brom as if silently asking a question.

"It is here with me," said the old man with a quick nod. Brom turned his gaze onto Roran and said with a small smile, "It is good to see you Roran. You seemed to have found adventure."

Eragon glanced towards the older man before saying, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I was just so tired after the fight, I forgot to lower my barriers." Then, resting a hand on Roran's shoulder, Eragon brought Roran forward. "Nasuada, I would like to introduce my cousin, Roran. Ajihad may have mentioned him to you before. Roran, Lady Nasuada, leader of the Varden and my liegelord. And this is Arya Svit-kona, the elves' ambassador." Roran bowed to each of them in turn. With a brief wave in the direction of the two warriors who had walked with them, "This is Lady Zoe, the Varden and dwarves' ambassador. And this is Murtagh who I count as a both a brother and the dearest of friends. He is the Varden's master of spies currently."

"It is an honor to meet Eragon's cousin," said Nasuada.

"Indeed," added Arya. The elf's ancient eyes examined him with interest and not a little curiosity as if she had heard stories of him, but wished to verify that the things she had heard were true.

After they finished exchanging greetings, Eragon explained that the entire village of Carvahall had arrived on the _Dragon Wing, _and that Roran had also involved himself in the battle. Apparently, from what Eragon had gathered from observation, his cousin had played a rather important role in rallying the Varden's forces that had been pushed up against the river.

Nasuada lifted a dark eyebrow. "The Varden are in your debt, Roran, for your assistance this day. You helped us to win this battle. I won't forget that. Our supplies are limited, but I will see that everyone on your ship is clothed and fed, and that your sick are treated."

Roran bowed even lower. "Thank you, Lady Nasuada." He knew enough manners to assist him through this situation, but the sooner he could escape, he thought, the better. In this tent of leaders, spies, ambassadors and warriors he felt out of place.

"If I weren't so pressed for time, I would insist upon knowing how and why you and your village evaded Galbatorix's men, traveled to Surda, and then found us. Even just the bare facts of your trek make an extraordinary tale. I still intend to learn the specifics—especially since I suspect it concerns Eragon—but I must deal with other, more urgent matters at the moment."

"Of course, Lady Nasuada."

"You may go, then."

"Please," said Eragon, "let him stay. He should be here for this." Nasuada gave him a quizzical look and Roran felt himself start a little with surprise. Why would his cousin include him in what was clearly discussions of war? What kind of gesture was this?

"Very well. If you want. But enough of this dawdling Eragon. Jump to the meat of the matter and tell us about the Rider!"

Eragon began with a quick history of the three remaining dragon eggs— one of which was now in their care. Then he proceeded to describe his and Saphira's fight with grey dragon and the Rider, paying special attention to the fact that he was not real, but real enough that he could fight - unable to be defeated by normal means. How Galbatorix had merely wanted to wear the already injured and tired Rider and dragon down so that they would be easily captured.

"But then," Eragon paused in his narration with a troubled expression on his face. "He just vanished as if the spell that had created him or the person who had created the illusion had been forced to end it."

Zoe let out a small cough from where she was standing, "That was because of me."

The young lady did not seem to mind the many shocked and confused glances that flicked to her. Instead she continued the story as if delivering a report to a command, the words succinct and they belied the actions they spoke of. She explained how she had been informed by some sort of presence that had assisted her before of the only way to prevent the capture of Eragon and Saphira. How, without thinking of the danger, she had slipped into the Empire's camp and ended the spell by closing the lid on a trunk.

It was here that she stopped and gazed firmly at Brom, "What I found was very strange and I hid them so that I could return with you. Whatever they are – be they spirits or something else – are more powerful than anything I have ever encountered. They should be treated with caution and the utmost secrecy. Word of them cannot go beyond this tent."

"I will go with you as soon as possible," said the man. "I believe I know exactly what you speak of and you are correct: secrecy is crucial."

"Understood," everyone echoed even Roran.

"Good," said Zoe and she moved forward to gaze down at the table. "Now what?"

A long silence filled the pavilion as everyone looked to Nasuada.

The young woman rubbed her temples. "I fear what you have found Zoe and what you faced today Eragon, Saphira. A Rider created through illusion is still such a dangerous foe as you found out today…" She shook her head. "I didn't think anything like this was possible."

"Thank you Zoe," said Eragon as he looked towards the young woman. "We wouldn't have escaped this day." Saphira let out a long growl of agreement.

Zoe just nodded her head and smiled ever so slightly as she said, "You know my answer to that."

"Our task is doubly hard now," said Brom quietly. "We may have held our own today, but the Empire still far outnumbers us, and now we must face the threat of this illusion. The matter of the dragon egg still in our care should be discussed."

"This is not something we should speak of now," broke in Murtagh. "There is no point worrying of it now or trying to plan after all that has happened this day." The young man's voice echoed with command and he was standing behind Zoe as if to protect her. Roran wondered who he was and what kind of past had shaped him into this forbidding, closed-tongued warrior spy.

Nasuada nodded, "You are right Murtagh. We cannot decide this when we are bloody and tired and our minds are clouded from fighting. Go, rest, and we shall take this up again tomorrow."

Brom looked to Zoe and Murtagh and said, "I can heal you if you like Zoe, Murtagh." His eyes looked to Eragon and seemed to take in the bloody cuts, bruises and other small scrapes that the Rider had accumulated. "You to, Eragon, Saphira."

"May I speak to Roran for a moment?" asked Zoe suddenly. The dark lady was leaning heavily against the table as if needed it to stay upright, but her gaze was still steady. Murtagh was hovering close to her side.

Before anyone could respond, Roran found himself being firmly gripped on his upper arm by a surprisingly strong hand and guided outside to a place a few feet away from the others. The plains had completely surrendered into darkness, but the Varden was still a hub of activity as wounds were cared for, dying comforted and others preparing for a well-deserved night's sleep. The young man from Carvahall found himself trapped in Zoe's endless grey-blue gaze as she regarded him.

"My lady," said Roran awkwardly as he tried to ease the awkward silence between them. "I think Jeod mentioned something of you traveling with Eragon."

"I suppose it was too much to hope my identity was completely hidden," said the young woman with a small sigh. "But I already knew that would be impossible." Her gaze flicked over Roran again as if sizing him up, categorizing him and deciding on the level of danger he posed to her. "I did travel with Eragon and Saphira," she continued. "Your cousin spoke often of you and his uncle – I know leaving like he did was the hardest thing he had ever done."

"He could have said something," said Roran coldly. "He could have told us about Saphira or done something about her." He could have removed Saphira, whispered another part of him. Why did he have to keep her, raise her and then go to war for her.

"Perhaps," she said calmly even in the face of his anger and grief, "but what would that have changed in the end? Soldiers would still have come, your village would still have faced the wrath of the King and you might not have been able to escape. Besides, Riders and dragons are bound even more tightly then you are bound to the girl you have risked so much for. I believe her name is Katrina?" Her eyes knowingly pierced his and, in their bluish depths he saw how she demanded him to face the truth, to see how things had been forced to work out and why. "Could you kill Katrina? Could you do that?"

Roran stared at the lady before him and found his jaw working in a mix of sudden fear and anger. How did she know so much about him? "How…" he began but Zoe cut him off. It was clear she had done something like this before.

"I asked to speak for you because I know you will ask Eragon to explain the events of the past few months and I want you to be open to his words." The young woman's grip on his upper arm did not loosen, "You have made difficult choices these past weeks Roran of Carvahall, but so has your cousin. Listen to him."

For a few long moments Roran just stared into her face. She looked fragile to him with her fine bones, slender build and elegant manners, but she was clearly not delicate. There was a force that gaze, a tightness to that grip and a way of carrying herself that made her appear both taller and stronger. She attracted attention and demanded answers in a way that Roran had never encountered before.

"I will…" he floundered for a moment and then continued, "I will do my best."

"That is all I ask," she said with a faint smile that seemed to say 'try your hardest and don't be an idiot or you will answer to me.'

With that she released his arm and walked back to the tent where she vanished in a swirl of the flap. But Roran would be hard pressed to forget those deep eyes piercing his or the way she spoke so casually of her role in the battle. He suddenly felt as if he had entered a world of illusions where a seemingly young, fair woman could be a dangerous warrior and commander. Where a dark eyed stranger could be a spy and a story teller could be a rebellion leader. It was a world where a boy could turn, in the space of a few short months, into a thing of legend with access to great power and who wielded it as if he had been born to it. Where that very boy – once fondly called a 'dreamer' – could be close friends with an elf. Nothing could be based on first impressions anymore and the ground he walked was suddenly unsure beneath his feet.

In this world of stories come to life where honor, valor, courage, loyalty and freedom could be found aplenty, he now stood. And that made him wonder what he was. Was he a farmer who was really a leader? Could he to be an illusion now to – could the things he had experienced have given him a mask that concealed what he had turned into during the past few months of trials? Standing a few feet away from the tent where his cousin was even now playing his role as last of the Riders, he suddenly realized just how far he had come.

Struggling through the grief of his father's death, protecting the village, losing Katrina, stealing a ship and fighting for his village's survival against both the King and nature had changed him. Had he entered this world?

It seemed he had.

* * *

><p>Eragon did not bother asking Zoe what sort of grilling she had given his cousin. When he left the tent he was relieved to see that Roran was still alive and looking remarkably collected considering what Eragon had just asked of him. The young Rider remembered all too well his first introduction to the world that Eragon now moved through with ease.<p>

There were many things Eragon needed to attend to the following morning. He, Zoe and Arya would be welcomed additions to the healing tents as well as assist in the moving of the Varden across the river and away from the blood soaked, body strewn battle field. Then there was the matter of the trunk and its strange contents that Zoe had locked away once more. Following that they needed to do something about the battle plans for the future as well as the dragon egg and the promise Eragon had made to return to Oromis for his final stint of instruction.

There would be little rest for him in the coming days and weeks.

"Nasuada wasn't what I expected," said his cousin as they moved through the tents. Saphira walked behind them, her massive blue bulk making everyone who wished to slip past her press against the tents.

That forced a tired chuckle out of Eragon. "The one you were expecting was her father, Ajihad. Still, she's as good a leader as he was, if not better."

"Her skin, is it dyed?"

"No, that's the way she is." He felt himself inwardly smile at his cousin's question. Roran, for all the traveling he had done recently, still clung to traces of the sheltered valley life.

Just then, Eragon felt Jeod, Horst, and a score of other men from Carvahall hurrying toward them. The feeling of them suddenly made Eragon tense and he had to force his mind to stop worrying. They would treat him as they would, but he would be a fool to think his new rank and appearance would not change things. The villagers slowed as they rounded a tent and glimpsed Saphira.

He didn't wait for them to do anything. It was something Zoe had taught him to do in such situations and he was desperate for anything that would help the tone. So, with a warm smile, he stepped forward. In a warm voice he cried out, "Horst!" Careful not to grip too tightly, he grasped the smith in a bear hug. "It's good to see you again!"

Horst gaped at Eragon, than a delighted grin spread across his face. "Blast if it isn't good to see you as well, Eragon. You've filled out since you left." The smith's eyes took in his new features, the finely made armor and the new presence that the man who had once been a boy with too many questions now bore with ease. His eyes sparkled with open awe as they flicked to the giant blue dragon that stood behind Eragon. It was clear that the smith did not know how to act in the presence of such legends, but Eragon did not give him a chance to linger on them.

"You mean since I ran away."

Meeting the villagers was a strange experience for Eragon. Hardship had altered some of the men so much, he barely recognized them. And they treated him differently than before, with a mixture of awe and reverence. It reminded him of a dream, where everything familiar is rendered alien. He was disconcerted by how out of place he felt among them. Suddenly he was reminded by how far he had come and he remembered how Zoe had warned him of this.

_There is no going back. You have left the person that they knew behind. Accept it and move on. _

When Eragon came to Jeod, he paused. "Brom will be glad to see you."

"And I will be glad to see him." The man smiled widely and Eragon nodded.

"As soon as I can, we will sit down together and have a long talk."

Then Jeod moved on to Saphira and bowed to her. "I am indeed lucky to meet you Saphira Brightscales. I have always wished to meet you."

Bending her neck, Saphira touched Jeod on the brow. He shivered at the contact.

_Give him my thanks for helping to rescue me from Galbatorix. Otherwise, I would still_ _be languishing in the king's treasury. He was Brom's friend, and so he is our friend. _

After Eragon repeated her words, Jeod said, "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Saphira Bjartskular," surprising them with his knowledge of the ancient language.

"Where did you go?" Horst asked Roran. "We looked high and low for you after you took off into the battle."

"Never mind that now. Return to the others and tell them that we have been accepted into the Varden. They will give us food and shelter." The men smiled widely departed though they couldn't resist taking one more look at the dragon and the boy they all knew, but was nothing like the person they remembered.

Eragon watched the exchanged with interest. "They trust you. Even Horst obeys you without question. Do you speak for all of Carvahall now?"

"I do."

Eragon studied his cousin for a silent moment. He found his interesting to see how his cousin had grown and changed in the months since he had last seen him. It appeared that he, Eragon, hadn't been the only one learning how to command.

Heavy darkness was advancing upon the Burning Plains by the time they found the small two-man tent the Varden had assigned Eragon. Since Saphira could not fit her head through the opening, she curled up on the ground beside and prepared to keep watch.

_Brom will be here soon to see to our wounds, _remembered Eragon. _I also need to remove your armor. _

His father had been most definite about that and, most likely, wanted to make sure that Eragon had not left anything out of his retelling of the fight with the shadow Rider. The idea of speaking to his father, while appealing and important, was not nearly as vital as speaking to Roran. Hopefully Brom could wait a while and tend to Zoe and Murtagh before coming to him and Saphira. He didn't want the older man barging in during this conversation.

_I know. Don't stay up too late talking. _

_What should I say to him. _

_The truth, _said Saphira gently, _only the truth. _

Inside the tent, Eragon found an oil lantern that he lit with steel and flint. He could see perfectly well without it, but Roran needed the light. He could also have cast a small spell and created a weyr light, but that would not have done anything to further warm relations with his cousin. It would be best to keep things simple and as free from magic as possible, decided Eragon as he quickly shucked his armor off and piled it neatly on a folding bench before rooting around in his bags for something to eat.

At last, after downing a little of the supplies he had left over from their journey from Ellesmera and feeling a little more alive, Eragon dropped to the ground and stared at his cousin. They sat opposite each other and neither seemed to be able to find the words they needed to describe their feelings. Eragon was uncertain how to begin, so he remained silent and stared at the lamp's dancing flame.

Neither of them moved.

After uncounted minutes, Roran said, "Tell me how my father died."

"Garrow," said Eragon and then he fell silent as he thought back to those days – simpler days. "It is a long story."

"Tell it."

"You don't understand," said Eragon calmly but carefully, "it involves more than just you and me and Garrow. It involves many lives and many choices. If I tell it you then you must promise me not to speak of it to anyone without my permission," he hated asking such a thing from his cousin but he had to. Zoe was involved and Murtagh…too many secrets and intertwining paths made it up. It was not his story anymore – it was others to and he could not tell their stories without ensuring that they would be protected.

Many stories. His own story was part of so many other stories.

Roran glared at him for a moment before saying, "I promise on my life."

So he began.

Eragon had recounted the story upon several occasions. But this time he was more open than ever before.

Instead of just listing the events, he described what he had thought and felt ever since he had found Saphira's egg, trying to make Roran understand _why _he did what he did. He had explored many of these events before, however, with Zoe and Saphira. That had helped him order these events and feelings, put some distance between certain painful, griefs filled moments.

Yes, he hid certain things like Mutagh's parentage. Instead he told Roran at Murtagh had been raised as the King's ward, but not because his father was Morzan. Zoe was from another world, but he did not tell Roran about her purpose here or the stakes resting on this war. So he did hide things, too many things, but he could not help it.

He had never been so anxious before. He hadn't felt so desperate for someone to understand and trust him then he did right then.

He knew, deep down, that he really didn't deserve Roran's forgiveness or trust.

"I was wrong to hide Saphira from the rest of the family," Eragon concluded, "but I was afraid you might insist on killing her, and I didn't realize how much danger she put us in. After Garrow died, I decided to leave in order to track down the Ra'zac, as well as to avoid putting Carvahall in any more danger." A humorless laugh escaped him. "It didn't work, but if I had remained, the soldiers would have come far sooner. And then who knows? Galbatorix might have even visited Palancar Valley himself. I may be the reason Garrow died, but that was never my intention, nor that you and everyone else in Carvahall should suffer because of my choices…" He gestured helplessly. "I did the best I could, Roran."

"And the rest of it—Brom being a Rider, Zoe being from another world, Murtagh saving your life, rescuing Arya at Gil'ead, and killing a Shade at the dwarves' capital—all that happened?"

"Yes," said Eragon simply, "and much more." As quickly as he could, Eragon summarized what had taken place since he and Saphira set forth with Brom, including their sojourn to Ellesméra and his own transformation during the Agaetí Blödhren. How Zoe had saved a dragon egg and how he had discovered about the Varden's plight.

Leaning forward, Roran rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and gazed at the dirt between them. It was impossible for Eragon to read his emotions without reaching into his consciousness, which he refused to do, knowing it would be a terrible mistake to invade Roran's privacy.

Roran was silent for so long, Eragon began to wonder if he would ever respond.

But Eragon could comfort himself with one thing. He had told the truth.

All of it.

The story didn't have an ending yet. For that he was strangely sorry and, at the same time, glad. If it had an ending then it would have been one where he and Roran did not see themselves as brothers like they had been before all of it. It was a good start, what he had been able to tell, reflected the Rider. Perhaps someone in the future would enjoy it. Maybe, hoped Eragon, they would even think the ending was worthy of a fairy tale because it was a victorious, beautiful ending. Where the evil was vanquished, love found and peace spreading out like a gentle wave over once war torn land.

Roran suddenly interrupted that flow of thought, "You have made mistakes, but they are no greater than my own." His cousin seemed to be struggling with the words, fighting to get them out as if he had wanted to say them for so long that he had forgotten how they sounded when spoken. "Garrow died because you kept Saphira secret. Many more have died because I refused to give myself up to the Empire… We are equally guilty." He looked up, and then slowly extended his right hand. "Brother?"

"Brother," said Eragon.

It sounded so right and seemed to relieve a little of the crushing pressure from Eragon's shoulders. What more could he ask for?

Nothing.

He was a brother to Roran again and that was a gift greater than any material one.

He gripped Roran's forearm, and they pulled each other into a rough embrace though Eragon had to be careful of numerous injuries that littered his body and ached when he moved. When they separated, Eragon had to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. This bridge, once thought to have been burned away long ago, seemed to have been rebuilt. Eragon was not sure he wished to test the strength of it, but at least it was there. At least he had Roran back again.

Would this story – despite everything – have an ending that would make someone satisfied?

"Galbatorix should surrender now that we're together again," he joked tiredly. "Who can stand against the two of us?" He lowered himself back onto the bedding. "Now you tell me, how did you end up here?"

All happiness vanished from Roran's face. He began to speak in a low monotone, and Eragon listened with growing amazement as he wove an epic of attacks, sieges, and betrayal, of leaving Carvahall, crossing the Spine, and razing the docks of Teirm, of sailing through a monstrous whirlpool. Of how he lost Katrina and how that had helped him find the strength to fight on. He spoke of those who hadn't made it, of enemies he had created and debts both of blood and gratitude that he owed now.

When at last he finished, Eragon choose his words with care, "You are a greater man than I, Roran of Carvahall. I couldn't have done half those things." Meeting his cousin's gaze he continued, "I can fight, but it takes a special person to convince people to leave their homes and search for freedom. Take comfort in that and the many things you have triumphed over."

"I had no choice," said Roran and suddenly Eragon felt like the older one. Suddenly he felt like the one in charge and the one with all the experience. It was strange, but he ignored it as Roran continued. "When they took Katrina—" Roran's voice broke. "I could either give up or die. But I could try to escape Galbatorix's trap, no matter the cost." He fixed his burning eyes on Eragon. "I have lied and burned and slaughtered to get here."

"We have all fought," said Eragon evenly as he tried to help Roran see past the darkness of the past few months. "You are not alone in that."

There were some things Eragon wished his cousin would learn. Lessons in controlling emotions for, the Rider quickly deduced from his cousin's tale, Roran relied on them too much. Neither did Eragon want his cousin to continue carrying the terrible burdens of guilt as if no one else in the world could possibly understand or relieve them.

His cousin shook his head, "I no longer have to worry about protecting everyone from Carvahall; the Varden will see to that. Now I have only one goal in life, to find and rescue Katrina, if she's not already dead. Will you help me, Eragon?"

For a long moment Eragon considered his cousin and the ferocity with which he spoke Reaching towards his saddlebags piled neatly where the Varden had deposited them, he removed a wooden bowl and the silver flask of enchanted faelnirv Oromis had given him. He took a small sip of the liqueur to revitalize himself and gasped as it raced down his throat, making his nerves tingle with cold fire. Then, with a small wave of his hand, he filled the bowl with clear water that reflected the tent and his face with perfect clarity.

"Watch." Gathering up his burst of new energy, Eragon said, "Draumr kópa." The liqueur shimmered and turned black. After a few seconds, a thin key of light appeared in the center of the bowl, revealing Katrina. She lay slumped against stone wall; manacles bound her wrists to a deeply sunken ring in the stony floor. Her face was pale and thin, she looked worn and her eyes were closed though, suspected Eragon, not in pain but in weariness and despair. She did not appear injured, but who knew how long that would remain true.

Roran leaned towards the bowl and reached out one tentative hand as if trying to touch the image of his beloved even as Eragon let the magic go. His face was softer; his eyes glowed with a soft kind of love and not the passionate ferocity that now seemed to glint in them permanently.

So what did Eragon do?

Did he do as he so desperately wanted to do and go with Roran – who would go with or without him? Or did he do what duty and responsibility to the Varden dictated and remain close to his allies.

_What do you think Saphira? _

_I do not think you have a choice, little one. Part of me wishes to go and avenge ourselves against the Ra'zac. We would be eliminating them as enemies as well, but part of me knows that neither Nasuada nor Brom will like it. _

_You are right, _said Eragon and he glanced once more at his cousin who seemed lost in the lingering memory of the image. _But I cannot bear to lose him either to death or because I refused to go. _

_You cannot always help him, _cautioned Saphira gently. _We have duties to others to. Zoe spoke of this, the fine line between family and duty to others. _

_But I can do this, _he said, _and it serves a larger purpose to. _

_I do not doubt it, _she said quickly, _I merely think we should know all the implications. I think it will be a fine adventure and I would be glad to sink my teeth into those foul creatures. _

Eragon gently rested a hand on his cousin's shoulder and said quietly as Roran looked up. "I will go with you." The words echoed through the small interior of the tent, "I will help you rescue Katrina and avenge Garrow. This I promise."

Yes, decided the Rider and Roran smiled widely and embraced him tightly with no regard to his cousin's battered state. Yes, he thought as a small smile broke across his own face, this story wasn't finished yet. Many chapters still lay before him, but he would let them wait for a little while longer. But he would tell the truth. No one would ever be able to doubt that everything that had happened had occurred as he told it. The death, the pain, the grief and the moments of lightness, courage, honor and freedom would be there to.

He would tell the truth.

All of it and those who could would decide if the ending was happy or sad. If it was a victorious one or a tragic one.

But at least he would tell it. He would make sure he had a chance to tell it.

* * *

><p>In a place beyond time, in an isolated chamber buried deep beneath an abandoned city, the being watched.<p>

It, like the others around him, never forgot things. They never forgot that time was still passing around them and that things needed to happen. Had it been able to smile it would have. It would have been a ferocious smile. It would have been the smile of a hunter as it closed in on an inspecting prey. They had sworn to wreak terrible vengeance on Galbatorix whom they blamed for the death of thousands of their kin, the destruction of their world and the peace in which it had prospered.

He, like the others, could see things without looking. They noticed things. Floating over a smoldering field of battle, they felt gossamer traces of extraordinary and ancient powers. Soaring across a river running with blood, where the air was heavy with smoke and the ground churned to mud by a host of short-lived mortals. Their presence went unnoticed as they floated on the currents and eddies in the air, too faint to be noticed, waiting, waiting, waiting...

And because they could wait, because they did not know the meaning of time, they were endlessly patient.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I am so happy to be done Eldest. I want to throw a victory party! The second book with its awkward, cringe-worthy moments is now OVER WITH. I can't quite believe how far this story has come and it is really due to YOU GUYS. We are at the half-way point and, with some luck, I hope to get to the end. Keep reading and, please, don't be shy about offering me advice, criticism or sharing your wildest ideas about where this story could head. <em>**

**_Who knows where it might go? _**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Selena Moonlighty: I heard that so I just decided I didn't need to see it. :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you!_**

**_live laugh play music: haha they do! Thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

**_Skoilr: He will not be happy I can you that. I am not sure what other tricks he has up his sleeve...definitely going to be thinking hard on that one especially as I get into the last two books. So glad you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for all your comments! Happy reading!_**

**_Nimtheriel: I am glad the narration/explanation made sense...I am not sure if that pair will return. Thank you for raising that point...the only issue is what will happen if they do have to siege the city and what twist that might have because of potentially lost lives ect. I will have to think on it :) haha I love that conversation! I can see them now...Thank you for the review and, as for pairings, I never intended to write a romance but I seem to be doing it right now! So you never know about that pair...Thank you again!_**

**_peachycupcake: oh but plot diverging is so fun and part of the point of this story! Even if it makes Zoe a bit nervous ;) Thank you for the reviews!_**

**_General TheDyingTitan: So glad you enjoyed it! Hope you like this one to! _**


	64. The Road Goes On

You.

Again.

This story is just dragging on and on and on and on isn't it? I wouldn't blame you if you did stop reading – I might be a little disappointed but really I can't ask the world(s) of you now can I. If I was in your positions I probably would have just skipped ahead and asked all the important questions such as: did they win? What happens to Eragon and Saphira? Do Zoe and Murtagh get to be together? What about that red egg?

But, most important, is it a happy ending? Is it an ending you can be satisfied with?

Let me tell you this: endings are rarely satisfying or happy. There is my warning, you may very well hate me for the ending or go and rewrite it over and over again until you have something that YOU enjoy.

Will you, feverishly trying to find a place that you could fix and then fix everything, go back and read the rest. Looking at all the intricate little plot details fate has woven in just to keep you reading and, with impatient frustration, will you listen to my never ending commentary as you try and solve all the mistakes that were made, the lives that were lost and unfairness of that ending? Will you throw another character in, add a love triangle or just kill the King yourself because you are so sick of it being done WRONG? Because, as you say in your best attempt at sounding serious and professional, it's unfair that you – the most important piece of this entire equation - have to read this kind of ending.

It feels as if we are at a cross roads. We have come so far and yet this is really the beginning. So much needed to be dealt with and so many people needed to come into play.

You must think that I have something to share with you now besides all these grim words and talk of endings…oh please! You say with clapping hands, is the egg about to hatch?!

No. Hate to burst your bubble my friend. So sorry. You have to wait a little longer for that, but I promise that will happen soon. I haven't had time to present it to him yet because we have been running – literally – and there really was never a proper moment what with Eragon flitting off and Brom being in such a FOUL mood about it all. Or with that chest making everyone so uncomfortable because Brom wouldn't say anything about it and the thing is HEAVY especially when you have to cart the blasted thing across a battle field. Then there is the men who seem to know who I am wherever I go and say my name like I am their leader when, in truth, I am NOT. All I did was call them back to fight when they thought all strength had been spent – any idiot could have done the same thing.

So there.

You will have to be patient and so will I. Because, after all, I am just as eager to see this little red dragon take flight and carry his Rider into the sky like a glorious remnant of legends long forgotten. I am hoping the red dragon will be there for one person, one very special person, who will probably end up with a broken heart because of me (let's not talk about my heart). And it will happen soon. I can feel it and, as soon as is possible, I will make sure that it happens and, never fear, I'll make sure you are there to. But, until then, you have other business to attend to. Your dance card is rather full my friend and I promise that it will be exciting enough to keep you going until we reach the next plot twist, the next crossroads or the next cliff into oblivion.

Come now, it won't be so bad…I promise that it will be soon. So soon that you will barely have reached the end of one part before I whisk you away into another. Stay safe and keep your chin up. It isn't flattering to look like some nobody that is ignored by everyone – you are somebody now and you…you are my friend. We make quite a team.

It's awesome.

* * *

><p>He was one of last free Riders and bonded to a shining sapphire dragon that was a glorious example of the beauty and majesty of her nearly extinct race. He was a rebel leader, a shining emblem of hope to thousands and trained to the highest of standards. When people thought of him they thought of a warrior in shining mail, red sword held high and riding a fire breathing dragon who could not be stopped by any normal man.<p>

And what was he doing?

Lying in the dirt.

Eragon Shadeslayer was currently lying on his belly behind the edge of a sandy hill dotted with sparse blades of grass, thornbushes, and small, rosebud like cactuses. His sharp gaze focused on a dark tower of stone where two of his most vicious enemies made their base. Vengeance against this pair of murdering monsters had long hung over his head and now…now he was ready to cast it off.

Since his last disastrous visit to this place nothing seemed to have changed. Everything was eerily similar and, this time, he didn't have a companion more skilled then he was backing him up. This time he was the experienced one and his cousin, hot headed and bent upon this task, knew very little of just how much this expedition would take from the Rider both in energy but also ingenuity and time.

The evening sun streaked the low hills with shadows long and narrow and—far in the west—illuminated the surface of Leona Lake so that the horizon became a rippling bar of gold. The water acted as a giant mirror and the colors seemed brighter upon its surface, shining back up into the heavens.

To his left, Eragon heard the steady breathing of his cousin, Roran, who was stretched out beside him.

Breath.

Another one.

The sound too loud to Eragon's enhanced hearing, one of many such changes wrought by his experience during the Agaetí Blödhren, the elves' Blood-oath Celebration. Such changes, while he had slowly gotten used to them, still made him uncomfortable, almost uneasy, in his body. At times he wished that the changes had never occurred but he knew that, had they not, he would not be able to fight nor play the roles he had been able to assume. Still, there were times when it bothered him. Like right then.

He wished his cousin would breathe a little softer.

Already they had watched the revolting religious practices of the priests of Helgrind which involved blood sacrifices, drums and a great deal of chanting in some foul language. Eragon had been utterly disgusted by it and Roran had fared little better. Not for the last time he wondered why such a practice occurred. When this war was over he would make sure he ended the needless sacrifice of slaves and he would close this brutal organization. It may ensure the Ra'zac's loyalty to the King but it would not continue if Eragon could help it. And he could help it because, even though he was currently lying in the dirt, he was still a Rider.

Yet, he could not help but consider the question: Why?

Eragon had wondered if Dras-Leona's governor, Marcus Tábor, was somewhere in the crowd of priests, nobles and slaves. The thought brought on by Murtagh's half-joking comment when he heard of Eragon's mission: "Why don't you assassinate Tabor while you're at it?"

His half-brother had only been partly joking. As the Varden prepared to continue their campaign Murtagh had returned his spy master duties and there were certain assassinations that would prove helpful to their campaign if they could be done neatly and efficiently. Besides Eragon was already throwing himself into the middle of their enemies - why not do everything he possibly could to get killed? That had been Nasuada who had been beyond frustrated with him. The Rider had never seen her look so frustrated with a person – unfortunately it was him – before.

Only now, with the retinue safely gone, could the Rider focus on the task at hand: finding out if the person who was the object of their mission was alive in Helgrind.

Closing his eyes, Eragon slowly extended his consciousness outward, moving from the mind of one living thing to another, like tendrils of water seeping through sand. He touched teeming cities of insects frantically scurrying about their business, lizards and snakes hidden among warm rocks, diverse species of songbirds, and numerous small mammals. Insects and animals alike bustled with activity as they prepared for the fast-approaching night, whether by retreating to their various dens or, in the case of those of a nocturnal bent, by yawning, stretching, and otherwise readying themselves to hunt and forage.

Just as with his other senses, Eragon's ability to touch another being's thoughts diminished with distance. By the time his psychic probe arrived at the base of Helgrind, he could perceive only the largest of animals and even those but faintly.

He proceeded with caution, ready to withdraw at a second's notice if he happened to brush against the minds of their prey: the Ra'zac and the Ra'zac's parents and steeds, the gigantic Lethrblaka. Eragon was willing to expose himself in this manner only because none of the Ra'zac's breed could use magic, and he did not believe that they were mindbreakers. And though Eragon risked discovery by his ghostly investigation, he, Roran, and Saphira _had_ to know if the Ra'zac had imprisoned Katrina—Roran's betrothed—in Helgrind, for the answer would determine whether their mission was one of rescue or one of capture and interrogation. Then he could return to everyone who so anxiously awaited their return. He was already painfully aware that he had little time to spare for this mission as much as it hurt him and he had not informed Roran that, if Katrina was not here, he was not sure he could continue. Already he pushed his luck dangerously far by being this deep in the Empire. Going farther in was out of the question and suicidal.

Suicide had been another word Nasuada had used frequently.

Eragon searched long and hard. When he returned to himself, Roran was watching him with the expression of a starving wolf. His gray eyes burned with a mixture of anger, hope, and despair that was so great, it seemed as if his emotions might burst forth and incinerate everything in sight in a blaze of unimaginable intensity, melting the very rocks themselves.

This Eragon understood even if he worried about it.

Katrina's father, the butcher Sloan, had betrayed Roran to the Ra'zac. When they failed to capture him, the Ra'zac had instead seized Katrina from Roran's bedroom and spirited her away from Palancar Valley, leaving the inhabitants of Carvahall to be killed and enslaved by King Galbatorix's soldiers. If anything using Katrina had been the effective bait it was meant to be to bring Roran back into the Empire. When Eragon had pointed that out to his cousin, Roran had been less than amused and it had been lucky that they were flying on Saphira and the flight was making his cousin rather queasy otherwise Eragon might just have been punched in the back of his head. The capture had also proved very effective in bringing Eragon and Saphira back into the Empire without an army behind them.

No, Galbatorix had played that hand rather well.

Unable to pursue Katrina, Roran had—just in time—convinced the villagers to abandon their homes and to follow him across the Spine and then south along the coast of Alagaësia, where they joined forces with the rebel Varden. The hardships they endured as a result had been many and terrible. But circuitous as it was, that course had reunited Roran with Eragon, who knew the location of the Ra'zac's den and had promised to help save Katrina if he could. There had been a great deal of emphasis these past days on the 'if.'

Roran had only succeeded, as he later explained, because the strength of his passion drove him to extremes that others feared and avoided, and thus allowed him to confound his enemies.

Now Eragon had to ease his way a little.

He loved Roran as a brother, and since Roran was to marry Katrina, Eragon had extended his definition of family to include her as well. He did not know Katrina well, but he knew how important she was to his cousin and that was enough. Besides, his cousin stood no chance against the combined force of the Ra'zac and Eragon had no wish to lose his cousin to them or to have Roran used against him by the King. Too much blood of their family had been spilt in this war and the Rider would not see more of it if he could help it. He had lost a mother, a uncle and he would not lose his cousin.

Then, of course, there was revenge. Though, as Eragon had come to realize, revenge really didn't motivate him anymore like it once had. He didn't want revenge like Roran did and his motives were much more on the side of removing the Ra'zac gone before they could terrorize the Varden. Revenge was an emotion he had decided he no longer needed when it came to the Ra'zac. Instead he wanted cold, hard logic that would assist him in a fight - not the burning, blind, feverous anger that glowed within Roran. Revenge and anger could give you strength, but they could quickly blind you and make you that more easy to kill. No, he had decided long before this moment, revenge was not something he needed when it came to these creatures.

"I think I felt her," he said. "It's hard to be certain, because we're so far from Helgrind and I've never touched her mind before, but I _think_ she's in that forsaken peak, concealed somewhere near the very top."

"Is she sick? Is she injured? Blast it, Eragon, don't hide it from me: have they hurt her?"

"She's in no pain at the moment." Eragon refrained from mentioning, however, that he had detected a second person as well, one whose identity he suspected and the presence of whom, if confirmed, troubled him greatly. "What I _didn't_ find was the Ra'zac or the Lethrblaka. Aside from Katrina and a few other dim specks of light, Helgrind is black." He paused and then continued as he tried to convey the feeling, "Black…blacker then the deepest night."

Roran scowled, clenched his left fist, and glared at the mountain of rock, which was fading into the dusk as purple shadows enveloped it. In a low, flat voice, as if talking with himself, he said, "It doesn't matter whether you are right or wrong."

"How so?"

"We dare not attack tonight; night is when the Ra'zac are strongest, and if they _are_ nearby, it would be stupid to fight them when we're at a disadvantage. Agreed?"

Eragon refrained from saying that had already been his plan. He did not want Roran to grow frustrated with him anymore than he already was. Besides saying that his cousin was a few moves behind him would do nothing to ingratiate Eragon with him. Roran was already struggling with the change in his cousin who was now, not only the experienced one, but the one people looked to. Roles had been reversed and it would, thought Eragon, take time for those to settle in if they ever did.

"Yes."

"So, we wait for the dawn." Roran gestured toward the slaves chained to the gory altar that had been left as sacrifices. "If those poor wretches are gone by then, we know that the Ra'zac are here, and we proceed as planned. If not, we curse our bad luck that they escaped us, free the slaves, rescue Katrina, and fly back to the Varden with her before Murtagh hunts us down. Either way, I doubt the Ra'zac will leave Katrina unattended for long, not if Galbatorix wants her to survive so he can use her as a tool against me."

Eragon nodded. Once more Roran had already outlined the basics of Eragon's own plan. The only difference was that Eragon's was far more detailed merely because the Rider knew the kind of magic and skill he would have to use to get them in and out of this mission in one piece. Roran, he thought, didn't quite know the levels to which Eragon was going to have to go to in this mission.

By unspoken consent, Eragon and Roran crawled backward down from the crest of the low hill they were hiding behind. At the bottom, they rose into a half crouch, then turned and, still doubled over, ran between two rows of hills. The shallow depression gradually deepened into a narrow, flood-carved gully lined with crumbling slabs of shale.

Dodging the gnarled juniper trees that dotted the gully, Eragon glanced up and, through clumps of needles, saw the first constellations to adorn the velvet sky. They seemed cold and sharp, like bright shards of ice.

* * *

><p>The low mound of coals throbbed like the heart of some giant beast. Occasionally, a patch of gold sparks flared into existence and raced across the surface of the wood before vanishing into a white-hot crevice.<p>

The dying remnants of the fire Eragon and Roran had built cast a dim red light over the surrounding area, revealing a patch of rocky soil, a few pewter-gray bushes, the indistinct mass of a juniper tree farther off, then nothing.

Eragon sat with his feet extended toward the nest of ruby embers—enjoying the warmth—and with his back propped against the knobby scales of Saphira's thick right foreleg. Opposite him, Roran was perched on the iron-hard, sun-bleached, wind-worn shell of an ancient tree trunk. Every time he moved, the trunk produced a bitter shriek that made Eragon want to claw at his ears. He was almost tempted to tell his cousin to get off the blasted thing but he refrained.

For the moment, quiet reigned within the hollow. Even the coals smoldered in silence; Roran had collected only long-dead branches devoid of moisture to eliminate any smoke that unfriendly eyes might spot. Everything in this place seemed dry and cooked by the sun that had finally sunk away.

After a considerable gap in the conversation, Saphira yawned, exposing her rows of many fearsome teeth. _Cruel and evil they may be, but I am impressed that the Ra'zac can bewitch their prey into_ wanting _to be eaten. They are great hunters to do that. . . . Perhaps I shall attempt it someday_.

_But not, _Eragon felt compelled to add, _with people. Try it with sheep instead_.

_People, sheep: what difference is there to a dragon? _Then she laughed deep in her long throat—a rolling rumble that reminded him of thunder.

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward to take his weight off Saphira's sharp-edged scales. Unsheathing Zar'roc from his side, Eragon examined the ruby red blade which bore no sign of the battle it had endured a few weeks ago. He could not imagine taking up another, lesser sword after wielding one of Runon's creations. That night, he had fortified Roran's hammer with several spells that would prevent either piece from breaking, except under the most extreme stress. But Zar'roc needed nothing. Though, he reflected, one day he might have to pass it over Rider of the still un-hatched red dragon egg. Part of him would miss it and another would not.

Unbidden, a series of memories overwhelmed Eragon: _A sullen orange and crimson sky swirled_ _around him as Saphira dove in pursuit of the grey dragon and his shadow-like Rider. Wind howled past his ears. _

_. . . His fingers went numb from the jolt of sword striking sword as he dueled that same Rider on_ _the ground. . . . _

Eragon blinked, disoriented as the noise and fury of battle faded and the pleasant aroma of juniper wood replaced the stench of blood. He ran his tongue over his upper teeth, trying to eradicate the taste of bile that filled his mouth.

_—Eragon, _said Saphira.

He caught himself and nodded, grateful for her intervention. Eragon did his best not to brood on the past battle, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking. He was thinking the daring trek with Zoe and Brom across the Plains to retrieve the hidden chest from which the power to create the shadow Rider had come from. They hadn't dared to open it and, even now, the chest was in Brom's care until something could be done about it. The old story teller had refused to explain anything to either he or Zoe about what was actually in the chest. He thought of the men killed and the magic he wove. There were many, too many, dark things to think of recently and they filled his mind.

Drawing and releasing a slow breath to clear his head, Eragon tried to force his mind back to the present but he was only partially successful.

Two mornings after the massive battle on the Burning Plains—when the Varden were busy regrouping and preparing to march after the Empire's army, which had retreated several leagues up the Jiet River—Eragon had gone to Nasuada and Arya, explained Roran's predicament, and sought their permission to help his cousin. He did not succeed. Both women vehemently opposed what Nasuada described as "a harebrained scheme that will have catastrophic consequences for everyone in Alagaësia if it goes awry!" Brom had many other statements that had been no less vehement in their position.

Only Zoe – Murtagh had not involved himself – had not been actively against it. She had cautioned him to be efficient and return quickly but not because of capture. The lady seemed to think that the hatching of the egg was not far off and she wanted Eragon and Saphira to be there. Her quiet support had been rather comforting to the Rider as he faced the wrath of an elf princess, a war leader and his own father.

The debate raged on for so long, at last Saphira had interrupted with a roar that shook the walls of the command tent. Then she said, _I am sore and tired, and Eragon is doing a poor job of explaining_ _himself. We have better things to do than stand around yammering like jackdaws, no? . . . Good,_ _now listen to me_.

It was, reflected Eragon, difficult to argue with a dragon.

The details of Saphira's remarks were complex, but the underlying structure of her presentation was straightforward. Saphira supported Eragon because she understood how much the proposed mission meant to him, while Eragon supported Roran because of love and family, and because he knew Roran would pursue Katrina with or without him, and his cousin would never be able to defeat the Ra'zac by himself. Also, as long as the Empire held Katrina captive, Roran—and through him, Eragon—was vulnerable to manipulation by Galbatorix. If the usurper threatened to kill Katrina, Roran would have no choice but to submit to his demands.

It would be best, then, to patch this breach in their defenses before their enemies took advantage of it. Also, she had argued, wouldn't it be best to remove the threat before the Varden had to deal with the Ra'zac in open combat?

As for the timing, it was perfect. Neither Galbatorix nor the Ra'zac would expect a raid in the center of the Empire when the Varden were busy fighting Galbatorix's troops near the border of Surda. Nasuada and Arya reluctantly agreed with Eragon that it was unlikely another shadow Rider would be created and, if it was, it would probably be sent to the north to confront Queen Islanzadí and the army under her command once the elves made their first strike and revealed their presence.

Saphira had then concluded with the statement. _But, _said Saphira, _we are going anyways. It seems like a fine adventure_.

A faint smile touched Eragon's lips as he recalled the scene.

The combined weight of Saphira's declaration and her impregnable logic had convinced Nasuada and Arya to grant their approval, albeit grudgingly. Brom had not been able to resign himself and the man had barely been able to say farewell. He had been distinctly cold towards Roran as if blaming him for Eragon's choice which the Rider had found unbelievably frustrating. He did not need Brom making things more difficult between them…

Afterward, Nasuada had said, "We must trust your judgment in this, Eragon, Saphira. For your sake and ours, I hope this expedition goes well." Her tone left Eragon uncertain whether her words represented a heartfelt wish or a subtle threat. He was hoping for the heartfelt wish, but lessons in human nature and diplomacy had left him thing it was more along the lines of a threat.

Eragon had spent the rest of that day gathering supplies, cleaning his armor, studying maps of the Empire with Saphira, and casting what spells he felt were necessary, such as one to thwart attempts by Galbatorix or his minions to scry Roran.

Three days later, Eragon and Roran had climbed onto Saphira's back, and she had taken flight, rising above the orange clouds that stifled the Burning Plains and angling northeast. She flew nonstop until the sun had traversed the dome of the sky and extinguished itself behind the horizon and then burst forth again with a glorious conflagration of reds and yellows. The first leg of their journey carried them toward the edge of the Empire, which few people they turned west toward Dras-Leona and Helgrind. From then on, they traveled at night to avoid notice by anyone in the many small villages scattered across the grasslands that lay between them and their destination.

Everywhere they went, Eragon saw evidence of the war that was now afoot: camps of soldiers, wagons full of supplies gathered into a bunch for the night, and lines of men with iron collars being led from their homes to fight on Galbatorix's behalf. The amount of resources deployed against them was daunting indeed. If nothing else he would have the intelligence that Murtagh wanted from him about troop movements.

Near the end of the second night, Helgrind had appeared in the distance: a mass of splintered columns, vague and ominous in the ashen light that precedes dawn. Saphira had landed in the hollow where they were now, and they had slept through most of the past day before beginning their reconnaissance.

A fountain of amber motes billowed and swirled as Roran tossed a branch onto the disintegrating coals.

He caught Eragon's look and shrugged. "Cold," he said.

There was a sudden crack.

The Rider jumped, one hand automatically flying to his sword before he realized that the sound was nothing more than the branch snapping in half. A sound eerily similar to that of someone stepping on a dry branch and, to the battle hardened warrior, all he needed to set his nerves on fire. Eragon could not help but considere the speed with which he had reacted

We wouldn't have jumped like that before_, _he thought, because we didn't know any better. Before everything in his world had changed the small noises had gone from harmless to potentially life threatening.

Roran must have been entertaining similar thoughts, for he said, "Do you see them?"

"Who?"

"The men you've killed. Do you see them in your dreams?"

"Sometimes."

The pulsing glow from the coals lit Roran's face from below, forming thick shadows above his mouth and across his forehead and giving his heavy, half-lidded eyes a baleful aspect. He spoke slowly, as if he found the words difficult. "I never wanted to be a warrior. I dreamed of blood and glory when I was younger, as every boy does, but the land was what was important to me. That and our family. . . . And now I have killed. . . . I have killed and killed, and you have killed even more." His gaze focused on some distant place only he could see. "There were these two men in Narda…Did I tell you this before?"

He had, but Eragon shook his head and remained silent. He let his cousin talk, just as he had talked with others before when he had first killed and learned the hard truth of it all. Roran, decided Eragon, needed to let go of a few of his heavy burdens.

"They were guards at the main gate. . . . Two of them, you know, and the man on the right, he had pure white hair. I remember because he couldn't have been more than twenty-four, twenty-five. They wore Galbatorix's sigil but spoke as if they were from Narda. They weren't professional soldiers. They were probably just men who had decided to help protect their homes from Urgals, pirates, brigands. . . . We weren't going to lift a finger against them. I swear to you, Eragon, that was never part of our plan. I had no choice, though. They recognized me. I stabbed the white-haired man underneath his chin. . . . It was like when Father cut the throat of a pig. And then the other, I smashed open his skull. I can still feel his bones giving way. . . . I remember every blow I've landed, from the soldiers in Carvahall to the ones on the Burning Plains. . . . You know, when I close my eyes, sometimes I can't sleep because the light from the fire we set in the docks of Teirm is so bright in my mind. I think I'm going mad then."

Eragon tapped a finger against the hilt of his sword as he listened before, at last, he said. "I know. Every one of us knows of what you speak. Zoe, Brom, Murtagh and I all know of it. I know what we do is right, but _right_ doesn't mean _easy_. Because of who we are, the Varden expect Saphira and me to stand at the front of their army and to slaughter entire battalions of soldiers. We do. We have."

In an even softer voice he continued, "But I choose to stand as I do with Saphira by my side. I stand with people like you and Murtagh. I am still Eragon and you are still Roran."

_Turmoil accompanies every great change, _said Saphira to both of them. _And we have experienced_ _more than our share, for we are agents of that very change. I am a dragon, and I do not regret_ _the deaths of those who endanger us. Killing the guards in Narda may not be a deed worthy of_ _celebration, but neither is it one to feel guilty about. You had to do it. When you must fight, Roran,_ _does not the fierce joy of combat lend wings to your feet? Do you not know the pleasure of pitting_ _yourself against a worthy opponent and the satisfaction of seeing the bodies of your enemies piled_ _before you? Eragon, you have experienced this. Help me explain it to your cousin_.

Eragon stared at the coals. Saphira had stated a truth that he was reluctant to acknowledge lest, by agreeing that one could enjoy violence, he would become a man he would despise. But Zoe had also spoken of it. She, a princess and ambassador, had spoken of how alive it made one feel to be dueling. He had come to see that that feeling was essential if he wanted to survive. It was who he was – who Zoe was. Murtagh and Arya had as well…many poets of the elves had tried to capture it in words on paper.

"Saphira is right," he said quietly, "it is the unfortunate truth."

He had come to see this and done his best to balance who he was on the battle field with who he was when he was alone with those he loved and cared for. His cousin did not seem to find any comfort in these words, however, and his face was dark. He didn't have Saphira, thought Eragon, to help him retreat into comfort and security. Roran needed Katrina to do that. New resolution filled the Rider as he came to that conclusion.

In a softer voice, Saphira said_, Do not be angry. I did not intend to upset you, Roran . . . I forget sometimes that you are still unaccustomed to these emotions, while I have fought tooth and nail for survival since the day I hatched. Eragon has also learned these lessons long before you were ever exposed to them and he had the support of Zoe, Murtagh, Arya and Brom. _

Choosing to change the subject, Eragon looked down at his sword and spoke. "We may have a problem tomorrow."

"What do you mean?"

Eragon directed his words toward Saphira as well. "Remember how I said that we—Saphira and I—could easily handle the Ra'zac?"

"Aye."

_And so we can, _said Saphira.

"Well, I was thinking about it while we spied on Helgrind, and I'm not so sure anymore. There are almost an infinite number of ways to do something with magic. For example, if I want to light a fire, I could light it with heat gathered from the air or the ground; I could create a flame out of pure energy; I could summon a bolt of lightning; I could concentrate a raft of sunbeams into a single point; I could use friction; and so forth."

"So?"

"The problem is, even though I can devise numerous spells to perform this one action, _blocking_ those spells might require but a single counterspell. If you prevent the action itself from taking place, then you don't have to tailor your counterspell to address the unique properties of each individual spell."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with tomorrow." His cousin was starting to look impatient and frustrated.

Was I so impatient? wondered Eragon. Did I need everything explained all at once? I suppose I did. No wonder Brom was so desperate to teach me patience and silence.

_I do, _said Saphira to both of them. She had immediately grasped the implications. _It means that, over_ _the past century, Galbatorix_ —

"—may have placed wards around the Ra'zac—"

— _that will protect them against_—

"—a whole range of spells. I probably won't—"

_—be able to kill them with any—_

"—of the words of death I was taught, nor any—"

_—attacks that we can invent now or then. We may—_

"—have to rely—"

"Stop!" exclaimed Roran. He gave a pained smile. "Stop, please. My head hurts when you do that."

Eragon paused with his mouth open; until that moment, he had been unaware that he and Saphira were speaking in turn. The knowledge pleased him: it signified that they had achieved new heights of cooperation and were acting together as a single entity—which made them far more powerful than either would be on their own. This was what Oromis and Glaedr had been trying to teach them and, at last, the lessons were finally being absorbed.

He closed his mouth and chuckled. "Sorry. What I'm worried about is this: if Galbatorix has had the foresight to take certain precautions, then force of arms may be the only means by which we can slay the Ra'zac. If that's true—"

"I'll just be in your way tomorrow."

"Nonsense. You may be slower than the Ra'zac, but I have no doubt you'll give them cause to fear your weapon, Roran Stronghammer." The compliment seemed to please Roran and soothe some of his ruffled feathers. "The greatest danger for you is that the Ra'zac or the Lethrblaka will manage to separate you from Saphira and me. The closer we stay together, the safer we'll all be. Saphira and I will try to keep the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka occupied, but some of them may slip past us. Four against two are only good odds if you're among the four."

To Saphira, Eragon said,_ I don't_ _know if I can beat two creatures that are quick as elves alone and Roran…I am worried for him. _

_You were the one who refused Arya's assistance, _she reminded him. _Zoe didn't even bother offering. _

Eragon reluctantly conceded the point. _If my spells fail us, we will be far more vulnerable than I_ _expected. . . . Tomorrow could end very badly indeed_.

Continuing the strand of conversation he had been privy to, Roran said, "This magic is a tricky business." The log he sat on gave a drawn-out groan as he rested his elbows on his knees.

"It is," Eragon agreed. "The hardest part is trying to anticipate every possible spell; I spend most of my time asking how I should protect myself if I'm attacked like _this_ and would another magician expect me to do _that_..."

"Could you make me as strong and fast as you are?"

Eragon considered the suggestion for several minutes before saying, "I don't see how. The energy needed to do that would have to come from somewhere. Saphira and I could give it to you, but then we would lose as much speed or strength as you gained."

"Then can you teach me to use magic?" When Eragon hesitated, Roran added, "Not now, of course. We don't have the time, and I don't expect one can become a magician overnight anyway. But in general why not? You and I are cousins. We share much the same blood. And it would be a valuable skill to have."

"I don't know how someone who's not a Rider learns to use magic," confessed Eragon. "It's not something I studied. Zoe would know, but she knows a different kind of magic than anything I have ever seen." Glancing around, he plucked a flat, round stone from the ground and tossed it to Roran, who caught it backhand. "Here, try this: concentrate on lifting the rock a foot or so into the air and say, 'Stenr rïsa.' "

"Stenr rïsa?"

"Exactly."

Roran frowned at the stone resting on his palm in a pose so reminiscent of Eragon's own training that Eragon could not help feeling a flash of nostalgia for the days he spent being drilled by Brom. Zoe had always been offering quiet words of encouragement as she sat behind him on Cadoc. Those had been the days when he was still young and impressionable while she had been overwhelmed and still very much the young girl. No magic had flowed through her in those days and she had sprouted facts like a dictionary whenever something caught her interest. That had been annoying.

Roran's eyebrows met, his lips tightened into a snarl, and he growled, "Stenr rïsa!" with enough intensity, Eragon half expected the stone to fly out of sight. He remembered thinking that if he spoke loud enough and with enough intensity it would work but it never had.

Nothing happened.

Scowling even harder, Roran repeated his command: "Stenr rïsa!" The stone exhibited a profound lack of movement. Something that was terribly frustrating for the one trying to create the movement.

"Well," said Eragon, "keep trying. That's the only advice I can give you. But"—and here he raised a finger—"if you _should_ happen to succeed, make sure you immediately come to me or, if I'm not around, to Zoe or Brom. You could kill yourself and others if you start experimenting with magic without understanding the rules. If nothing else, remember this: if you cast a spell that requires too much energy, you _will_ die. Don't take on projects that are beyond your abilities, don't try to bring back the dead, and don't try to unmake anything."

Roran nodded, still looking at the stone with a burning glare.

Thinking that now was a good time to introduce his cousin to this new concept, Eragon continued. "Magic aside, there is something far more important that you need to learn."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you need to be able to hide your thoughts from the Black Hand, Du Vrangr Gata, and others like them. You know a lot of things now that could harm the Varden. It's crucial, then, that you master this skill as soon as we return. Until you can defend yourself from spies, neither Nasuada nor I nor anyone else can trust you with information that might help our enemies."

"I understand. But why did you include Du Vrangr Gata in that list? They serve you and Nasuada."

"They do, but even among our allies there are more than a few people who would give their right arm"—he grimaced at the appropriateness of the phrase—"to ferret out our plans and secrets. And yours too, no less. You have become a _somebody, _Roran. Partly it is due to your own deeds, but also because we are related and that has attracted a great deal of attention."

"I know. It is strange to be recognized by those you have not met."

"That it is." Several other, related observations leaped to the tip of Eragon's tongue, but he resisted the urge to pursue the topic; it was a subject to explore another time. He should tell Zoe that Roran might benefit from a few helpful, gently delivered pointers on how to carry himself when the public eye turned to him. It would be better coming from her then from him. "Now that you know what it feels like when one mind touches another, you might be able to learn to reach out and touch other minds in turn."

"I'm not sure that is an ability I want to have."

"No matter; you also might _not_ be able to do it. Either way, before you spend time finding out, you should first devote yourself to the art of defense."

His cousin cocked an eyebrow. "How?"

"Choose something—a sound, an image, an emotion, anything—and let it swell within your mind until it blots out any other thoughts."

"That's all?"

"It's not as easy as you think. Go on; take a stab at it. When you're ready, let me know, and I'll see how well you've done."

Several moments passed. Then, at a flick of Roran's fingers, Eragon launched his consciousness toward his cousin, eager to discover what he had accomplished.

The full strength of Eragon's mental ray rammed into a wall composed of Roran's memories of Katrina and was stopped. He could take no ground, find no entrance or purchase, nor undermine the impenetrable barrier that stood before him. At that instant, Roran's entire identity was based upon his feelings for Katrina; Roran's mind was devoid of anything else Eragon could grasp hold of and use to gain control over his cousin.

Then Roran shifted his left leg and the wood underneath released a harsh squeal.

With that, the wall Eragon had hurled himself against fractured into dozens of pieces as a host of competing thoughts distracted Roran: _What was . . . Blast! Don't pay attention to it; he'll break_ _through. Katrina, remember Katrina. Ignore Eragon. The night she agreed to marry me, the smell_ _of the grass and her hair . . . Is that him? No! Focus! Don't—_

Taking advantage of Roran's confusion, Eragon rushed forward and, by the force of his will, immobilized Roran before he could shield himself again.

_You understand the basic concept, _said Eragon, then withdrew from Roran's mind and said out loud, "but you have to learn to maintain your concentration even when you're in the middle of a battle. You must learn to think without thinking . . . to empty yourself of all hopes and worries, save that one idea that is your armor."

"I'll work on it," promised Roran.

In a quiet voice, Eragon said, "You really love her, don't you?" It was more a statement of truth and wonder than a question and one he felt uncertain making. Romance was not a topic Eragon had broached with his cousin before, notwithstanding the many hours they had devoted in years past to debating the relative merits of the young women in and around Carvahall. That had been foolish silliness but this was something far more. It ran deep and wide – unbreakable in its strength. "How did it happen?"

"I liked her. She liked me. What importance are the details?"

"Come now," said Eragon. "I was too angry to ask before you left for Therinsford, and we have not seen each other again until just four days ago. I'm curious."

A quiet, almost ignored whisper rose in his heart from somewhere very deep, _I am curious because I might just be in love. Because I have spent the past few months wondering if I like her and she likes me. _

The skin around Roran's eyes pulled and wrinkled as he rubbed his temples. "There's not much to tell. I've always been partial to her. It meant little before I was a man, but after my rites of passage, I began to wonder whom I would marry and whom I wanted to become the mother of my children. During one of our visits to Carvahall, I saw Katrina stop by the side of Loring's house to pick a moss rose growing in the shade of the eaves. She smiled as she looked at the flower. . . . It was such a tender smile, and so happy, I decided right then that I wanted to make her smile like that again and again and that I wanted to look at that smile until the day I died." Tears gleamed in Roran's eyes, but they did not fall, and a second later, he blinked and they vanished. "I fear I have failed in that regard."

After a respectful pause, Eragon said, "You courted her, then? Aside from using me to ferry compliments to Katrina, how else did you proceed?"

"You ask like one who seeks instruction."

"Perhaps among all the wars and death and training I wonder what it is to fall in love." Eragon twirled his blade in his hands and watched the flickering light. "Murtagh is in love with Zoe but they hardly followed your example. They fight together, nearly die together, argue about everything from fencing to dancing, spent months apart without any kind of connection and somehow become a close. Did I mention the arguments? They are impossible something" He couldn't stop a faint note of exasperation from entering his voice. Just how, he wanted to demand of them, had they done it?

"Come now, yourself," said Roran. "What is it that exists between you and Arya?"

The strength of Roran's perception disturbed Eragon, but he did not let it show. "Hardly anything to wonder at or to believe may turn into anything else. A friendship, but not much more for neither of us seem able to go past that. Nor," he added in a softer voice, "can there be right now."

"Be honest. You dote upon her words and your gaze lingers upon her." Roran was smirking at him and Eragon was tempted to glare at him. Here he was, dodging around his cousin, while Roran was more than ready to dig under his armor with piercing questions. A plume of dark gray smoke erupted from Saphira's nostrils as she made a choking-like noise.

Eragon ignored her suppressed merriment and said, "Arya is an elf."

"And very beautiful. Pointed ears and slanted eyes are small flaws when compared with her charms. You look like a cat yourself now. Find a better reason."

"Arya is over a hundred years old."

That particular piece of information caught Roran by surprise; his eyebrows went up, and he said, "She's in the prime of her youth."

"It's true. Elves are immortal. Her youth and beauty will never fade into old age and death." Looking up at the stars he said quietly, "Riders are also immortal. We will also endure past the mortal lives and memories."

His cousin was not distracted in the slightest. "Well, be that as it may, these are reasons you give me, Eragon, and the heart rarely listens to reason. Do you fancy her or not?"

_If he fancied her any more, _Saphira said to both Eragon and Roran, _I'd be trying to kiss Arya myself_.

_Saphira! _Mortified, Eragon swatted her on the leg. Did he really fancy her? Or was it merely deep friendship that he trusted just as he trusted Saphira? These were questions he had asked himself too many times. He had grown frustrated with them and, as much as he trusted Roran, his cousin was hardly the one Eragon would want to discuss this with.

Roran was prudent enough not to rib Eragon further. "Then answer my original question and tell me how things stand between you and Arya. Have you spoken to her or her family about this? I have found it's unwise to let such matters fester." He grimaced as if remembering his own experience with not informing others of his love – it had not ended well at all.

"No," said Eragon, and stared at the length of his sword. "Nor will I launch such a question on her."

"Why?" When Eragon did not immediately reply, Roran uttered a frustrated exclamation.

"Getting answers out of you is harder than dragging Birka through the mud." Eragon chuckled at the mention of Birka, one of their old draft horses. "Saphira, will you solve this puzzle for me? Otherwise, I fear I'll never get a full explanation."

"Because I am a Rider and, until our duties to the Varden and the rest of Alagaesia are complete, neither of us is able to entertain thoughts of love." Eragon shrugged, "We both must wait even if we did feel anything for each other. I do not know if I truly love her and I would not force it upon her for she has endured many things, just as I have. If, in time, it turns to that then perhaps…perhaps there will be a chance, but only when all is said and done."

"Ah," said Roran, but it was clear that he found such talk of duty and of setting something like love aside because of it almost inconceivable. For Roran it had been love that had driven him – love for Katrina – not duty or the expectations of thousands. It had been because of love that he accepted the responsibility of leadership and it was because of love that he was currently sitting there with the cousin he had thought he once hated.

Eragon just smiled slightly and not without a little sadness. They were so different now and it was moments like this when he realized how it must feel to be a princess like Zoe. She had been raised to be this and known nothing else while he, Eragon, had not and only recently donned this new person. No wonder relationships with those who could see into your heart were important to keep you feeling grounded, connected and not cut off like a stone statute.

His cousin shook his head, "You speak in riddles now cousin."

"You have not yet exchanged banter with Zoe," said Eragon with a faint smile. "She will leave your head spinning."

"I am sure," said Roran with a faint grimace. "Is she really a princess from another world?"

"Yes," said Eragon, "and she is much more. Zoe would be angered if she was just that: a pretty face with a title." The branch that Roran had added to the fire burst apart again with a muted pop. It was like a small metaphor for what was happening around them, thought the Rider absently.

"I do not think she likes me," said the young man across from the Rider. "Murtagh…it's strange to think he is my cousin and your half-brother. You still haven't said who his father is." Roran raised his questioning eyes to Eragon's but the Rider just shrugged.

"That is Murtagh's business," said Eragon, "he has lived a hard life and I am only glad that he seems to have found some happiness." With a faint smile Eragon continued, "Give Zoe time and she will warm to you. Besides you met her after a battle and she had many other things on her mind. We all did."

_Starting_ _with that Rider and the strange way Galbatorix managed to create it. I wish Brom would tell me what was in that trunk…_

The silence that so often intruded on their discussion asserted itself once again, a gap born of equal parts weariness, familiarity, and—conversely—the many differences that fate had created between those who had once gone about lives that were but variations on a single melody. It was all so strange and the Rider hated to dwell on it. He felt as if he had lost everything but had no right to feel the loss because he had gained so many other things from a father to a brother to deep friendships with people like Zoe and Arya.

_You should sleep, _said Saphira to Eragon and Roran. _It's late, and we must rise early tomorrow_.

Eragon looked at the black vault of the sky, judging the hour by how far the stars had rotated. The night was older than he expected. Sleep was not something he really needed now, but the same could not be said of Roran and the days to come would be long enough for his mortal cousin without adding weariness to it.

"Sound advice," he said. "I just wish we had a few more days to rest before we storm Helgrind. The battle on the Burning Plains drained all of Saphira's strength and my own, and we have not fully recovered, what with flying here and…everything else. My limbs still ache, and I have more bruises than I can count. Look. . . ." Loosening the ties on the cuff of his left shirtsleeve, he pushed back the soft llámarae—a fabric the elves made by cross-weaving wool and nettle threads—revealing a rancid yellow streak where his shield had mashed against his forearm.

"Well," said Roran, "you may carry bruises, but the Ra'zac dealt me a wound the likes of which you cannot match, since the dragons, as I understand, removed the scar from your back." While he spoke, he divested himself of his shirt and moved farther into the pulsing light of the coals.

Eragon's eyes widened before he caught himself and concealed his shock behind a more neutral expression. He berated himself for overreacting, thinking, _It can't be that bad, _but the longer he studied Roran, the more dismayed he became.

A long, puckered scar, red and glossy, wrapped around Roran's right shoulder, starting at his collarbone and ending just past the middle of his arm. It was obvious that the Ra'zac had severed part of the muscle and that the two ends had failed to heal back together. Farther up, the skin had sunk inward, forming a depression half an inch deep.

"Roran! You should have shown this to me days ago. I had no idea the Ra'zac hurt you so badly. . . .Do you have any difficulty moving your arm?"

"Not to the side or back," said Roran. He demonstrated. "But in the front, I can only lift my hand about as high as . . . midchest." Grimacing, he lowered his arm. "Even that's a struggle; I have to keep my thumb level, or else my arm goes dead. The best way I've found is to swing my arm around from behind and let it land on whatever I'm trying to grasp. I skinned my knuckles a few times before I mastered the trick."

Eragon looked to his companion of heart and mind. _Should I? _he asked Saphira.

_I think you must. _

_We may regret it tomorrow. _

_You will have more cause for regret if Roran dies because he could not wield his hammer when_ _the occasion demanded. If you draw upon the resources around us, you can avoid tiring yourself_ _further. _

_You know I hate doing that. Even talking about it sickens me. _

_Our lives are more important than an ant's, _Saphira countered.

_Not to an ant. _

_And are you an ant? Don't be foolish, Eragon; it ill becomes you. _

With a sigh, Eragon beckoned to Roran. "Here, I'll heal that for you."

"You can do that?" His cousin was suddenly wary as if remembering that, despite the words they had just shared; his cousin was now a proficient wielder of magic.

"Obviously."

A momentary surge of excitement brightened Roran's face, but then he hesitated and looked troubled. "Now? Is that wise?"

"As Saphira has just said, better I tend to you while I have the chance, lest your injury cost you your life or endanger the rest of us." Roran drew near, and Eragon placed his right hand over the red scar while, at the same time, expanding his consciousness to encompass the trees and the plants and the animals that populated the gulch, save those he feared were too weak to survive his spell.

Then Eragon began to chant in the ancient language. The incantation he recited was long and complex. As Oromis had taught him, repairing such a wound went far beyond growing new skin and was a difficult matter at best. In this, Eragon relied upon the curative formulas that he had studied in Ellesméra and had devoted so many weeks to memorizing.

The silvery mark on Eragon's palm, the gedwëy ignasia, glowed white-hot as he released the magic. A second later, he uttered an involuntary groan as he died three times, once each with two small birds roosting in a nearby juniper and also with a snake hidden among the rocks. Across from him, Roran threw back his head and bared his teeth in a soundless cry as his shoulder muscle jumped and writhed beneath the surface of his shifting skin.

Then it was over.

Eragon inhaled a shuddering breath and rested his head in his hands, taking advantage of the concealment they provided to wipe away his tears before he examined the results of his labor. He saw Roran shrug several times and then stretch and windmill his arms. Roran's shoulder was large and round, the result of years spent digging holes for fence posts, hauling rocks, and pitching hay. Eragon may be the stronger of the two, but he had never been as muscular as his cousin.

Roran grinned. "It's as good as ever! Better, maybe. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"It was the strangest thing. I actually felt as if I was going to crawl out of my hide. And it itched something terrible; I could barely keep from ripping—"

"Get me some bread from your saddlebag, would you? I'm hungry."

"We just had dinner."

"I need a bite to eat after using magic like that." His cousin, thought the Rider, shouldn't tease him right then. He was not in the mood. For what he had said was not quite true. It was the toll his spell had exacted on the wildlife that disturbed him, not the magic itself, and he feared he might throw up unless he had something to settle his stomach.

"You're not ill, are you?" asked Roran as he saw his cousin's slightly pale face and darkened eyes.

"No." His voice clearly ended the subject for, with the memory of the deaths he had caused still heavy in his mind, Eragon was in no mood to explain to his cousin any of what had just transpired.

Roran removed a ragged half of sourdough bread from his bags, then paused and, with a hint of a smile, said, "Wouldn't you rather have some venison? I didn't finish all of mine." He held out the makeshift spit of seared juniper wood, on which were impaled three clumps of golden brown meat. To Eragon's sensitive nose, the odor that wafted toward him was thick and pungent and reminded him of nights he had spent in the Spine and of long winter dinners where he, Roran, and Garrow had gathered around their stove and enjoyed each other's company while a blizzard howled outside. He wanted, right then, to either throw-up or cover his nose. The smell was overpowering and made his already queasy stomach roil.

Eragon shook his head. "Just give me the bread."

"Are you sure? It's perfect: not too tough, not too tender, and cooked with the perfect amount of seasoning. It's so juicy, when you take a bite, it's as if you swallowed a mouthful of Elain's best stew."

"No. Not anymore and definitely not right now."

"You know you'll like it."

"Roran, stop teasing me and hand over that bread!"

"Ah, now see, you look better already. Maybe what you need isn't bread but someone to get your hackles up, eh?"

Eragon glowered at him, but choose to take the high road and hold out his hand for the bread which, after a long moment, his cousin passed over. As Eragon tore at the loaf, Roran said, "I don't know how you can survive on nothing but fruit, bread, and vegetables. A man has to eat meat if he wants to keep his strength up. Don't you miss it?"

"Not anymore," he said and with a faint smirk. "Besides I can't really be called a man now, Roran."

"You are still Eragon," said his cousin with obvious impatience. "Why attempt to defy the natural order of things?"

_I said much the same in Ellesméra, _observed Saphira, _but he did not listen to me_.

The two, decided the Rider, seemed to have developed a strange kind of friendship. Both of them could hardly be said to enjoy the other but they would happily trade comments about him. He was not sure he enjoyed it.

Eragon just shrugged. "We already had this discussion. You do what you want. I won't tell you or anyone else how to live. However, I cannot in good conscience eat a beast whose thoughts and feelings I've shared."

The tip of Saphira's tail twitched, and her scales clinked against a worn dome of rock that protruded from the ground. _Oh, he's hopeless_. Lifting and extending her neck, Saphira nipped the venison, spit and all, from Roran's other hand. The wood cracked between her serrated teeth as she bit down, and then it and the meat vanished into the fiery depths of her belly. _You should cook for me more often, Roran Stronghammer. Only next_ _time, I think you should prepare several deer at once. Otherwise, I won't get a proper meal…_

Roran hesitated, as if unable to decide whether her request was serious and, if so, how he could politely extricate himself from such an unlooked-for and rather onerous obligation. He cast a pleading glance at Eragon, who burst out laughing, both at Roran's expression and at his predicament.

The rise and fall of Saphira's sonorous laugh joined with Eragon's and reverberated throughout the hollow. Her teeth gleamed an angry red in the light from the embers. She looked fiercer than ever and Eragon found his heart nearly bursting with love for her. There were times when he just couldn't believe that he stood beside her.

An hour after the three of them had retired; Eragon was lying on his back alongside Saphira, muffled in layers of blankets against the night cold. All was still and quiet. It seemed as if a magician had placed an enchantment upon the earth and that everything in the world was bound in an eternal sleep and would remain frozen and unchanging forevermore underneath the watchful gaze of the twinkling stars. They gleamed above like little lanterns, unchanging no matter where he was in the land or what befell him. The stars, he had decided long ago, were the one thing that seemed unshakable.

Without moving, Eragon whispered in his mind: _Saphira? _

_Yes, little one? _

_What if I'm right and he's in Helgrind? I don't know what I should do then. . . . Tell me what I_ _should do. _

_I cannot, little one. This is a decision you have to make by yourself. The ways of men are not the_ _ways of dragons. I would tear off his head and feast on his body, but that would be wrong for you,_ _I think. _

_Will you stand by me, whatever I decide? _

_Always, little one. Now rest. All will be well. _

He was hardly comforted.

In the brief time he had alone with her, Eragon had asked Zoe what she should do, but the young woman had been unable to give him any kind of definite answer. She had merely told him that his heart would know. He had not liked that answer, but he could see her own worry and concern when he asked her and it seemed wrong to push her. Zoe was stretched thin and she had her own worries that started with the red dragon egg and her increasing popularity with the Varden which made her struggle to stay in the shadows and out of the King's gaze impossible.

As for Murtagh…his half-brother had looked him straight in the eye and told him to finish the job. The past few days before the Rider's departure had allowed the two brothers to reconnect a little after their long time apart and both had enjoyed it. In their conversations the two had covered many topics and one of them had been the matter of just who might be lingering in the mountain and Murtagh had been ruthlessly practical – a view that Eragon found oddly refreshing after being lost in feelings of pity and concern that he do the right thing. It still did not clear it away, but at least his brother would be on his side if he did choose that path in this moral dilemma.

_Go to sleep_, whispered Saphira in his mind. _There is no point thinking on that now. _

Eragon gazed into the void between the stars and slowed his breathing as he drifted into the trance that had replaced sleep for him...

But some things still haunted him. Some things, he knew, that would never leave him alone until everything was over and he stood upon a new road.

**_Part III begins! As Zoe promised - she will be the center in the upcoming chapter along with Murtagh, Brom and a certain dragon egg. I am sorry this chapter is so canon but I needed to post something to keep the motivation going and it felt right to start off this part off this way. _**

**_I am thinking this story needs a cover art to celebrate this milestone so if you have any suggestions then include! :)_**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Ray: I don't think this will be a tragic love story. Maybe challenging for characters involved, but I think in the end I will hit a balance and nobody will be pulling a Romeo & Juliet. I promise. I am working on another story for LOTR/Mortal Instruments so please check it out! Hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

**_Islingr90: I am not sure about the Eldunari. I might probably try and get them to Du Weldenvarden. I like to try and stick to canon as much as I can and then twist it a little through Zoe. Yes we will see an E/A relationship but I didn't like how it was in the books so I am taking my time. I think I will try and make it more serious and very obvious by the end of this book. Thanks for the support and hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

**_JustSomeGuy: yes! I am so glad that Eldest is over. I am not sure about that - part of me wants to bring another OC into the story but I think I will wait (if I do it) until nearer the end of the third book/early fourth book. Hope you enjoy this chapter! _**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: Hmmmm...well think of who is living underneath a certain island and has been watching over Zoe? Anyways! Thank you for the review and hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

**_General TheDyingTitan: Thanks! Hope you like this one!_**

**_Chris: Thank you :) so glad you liked it! Ah that is tough and no worries - maybe I will have another chapter up when you are next able to read. Thank you so much and happy reading to you! _**

**_Guest: No she hasn't gone and yes - unfortunately this is pretty much canon and I don't like it at all. Sorry. haha I just make an hour a day to write on this story because I enjoy it and I want to keep my readers happy. Ah S/T? That is a really good idea - THANKS! I hadn't thought that far ahead but it does make sense! :) THANK YOU! and I hope you don't mind this chapter..._**

**_MiniHilaryHahn: I am so glad you enjoy it! I will try to do better with that grammar point...its always been my weak point. Thank you! and happy reading!_**

**_srade9779: I think Zoe is using her own magic...it is similar but still a little different from Alageasia magic. Thanks for the review! :) _**

**_live laugh play music: Eragon isn't sure! But we will work something out...thank you for the review! Hope you enjoy it!_**

**_Skoilr: That makes me so happy. Thank you so much and I wish you the best on your own story! and thank you for all your support - its because of readers like you that this story has gone this far. Congratulations to you and I hope that writing fire keeps burning! :) _**


	65. Chapter 66

Eragon and Saphira were gone.

They were flying high with Roran towards Helgrind while I turned my attention to the Varden. I was swept up into the hustle and bustle of command meetings, delivering orders, organizing supplies and watching the petty struggles of nobles who wished for more credit for their parts in the battle. It was never ending, a to-do list that I kept adding to and, most annoying of all, it kept me so busy that I was unable to spend some much needed time sorting through whatever had happened to Murtagh. I barely had enough time to take a breath before something or someone dragged me back under.

I felt like a record on repeat. My actions always the same.

Even now I was walking through the Varden's temporary camp on the opposite side of the river, towards another meeting. This one would be different, however. Nasuada had insisted that Murtagh and I both be present at the first conference with Orrin and his advisors as we hammered out the next step in this battle. I heard the news from a runner while I was tending to my faithful little mare and I had been forced to leave her so I could change into clothes more suitable for a council meeting with a King and his Lords. I am afraid that smelling of horse with my hair in disarray and my face clearly not composed is no way to enter such a meeting.

The entire situation has been made difficult not only because Eragon is gone but because the dwarves had withdrawn after the loss of Hrothgar. They would return to their mountains, choose a new King and then return but it did mean for these few critical months we were without their significant military aid. Orrin was pushing, according to Nasuada, to completely secure Surda's border with the Empire instead of forging ahead like she wished to. I suspected that Lady Nausada hoped we would somehow be able to assist in changing the King's mind or at least force him to concede defeat but I was worried. Orrin, from what I had read, was a complicated person to manage and I had no wish to make too much of an enemy of him by making him feel incompetent or blocked in.

I sighed and ignored the murmured honorifics of 'Lady Zoe' that followed my footsteps. Occasionally I would allow a small smile out or a brief nod but each step I took was confident and I choose to appear busy. I choose to appear as if I was moving us all forward and further away from the smoky battlefield that was still visible a few miles away across the river. It is all in appearances when you are one of the chosen few raised to the pedestal of leadership. Every little bit of you has to be collected, ready and clearly following the needs set out by those who have raised you to this place.

I was nearly to Orrin's tent when a small boy dressed in simple but clean clothes, stumbled while he ran and would have face planted had I not automatically grabbed his arm and steadied him. His face looked up and his eyes went wide as he realized who had stopped him from falling. Before either of us could speak a voice rang out from in front of us. A woman in simple, but immaculate clothes (that is saying a lot in an army camp to have clean clothes and I wondered how she managed it) was standing with a basket of washing under one arm.

"What have I told you child about running like that," she demanded of the boy who was clearly her son and then her gaze fell on me. "Oh," she managed and I quickly cut in before the situation became too unbearably awkward.

"Are you alright?" I asked gently of little boy who managed to nod and I gently released his arm. "Good," I said with a smile, "my name is Zoe." I looked up at the woman and then back at the child, "Who are you?"

"Stevan," said the boy and then he looked to his mother who seemed struck speechless about who was now trading names with her son. Stevan didn't really seem to know exactly who I was – he was just extremely puzzled by the strange way us two adults were acting. Oh this was awkward!

"And you?" I asked gently of the woman who suddenly snapped to and managed to drop a half-curtsey without upsetting her laundry.

"I am Mirile of Palancar Valley," she spoke the words with obvious pride and I couldn't stop myself from smiling as I realized that she was probably one of the villagers who had followed Roran. I did not remember 'Mirile' from Eragon's stories, but I felt a strange sort of connection to anyone from the village after listening for so many months to Eragon's tales. They may only know my reputation but I knew a great deal of where they came from and the quiet lives they had once lived there.

"It is a pleasure to meet those from Eragon's home," I said with a respectful nod of my head. "I hope I get to see more of you Mirile." I looked down at the boy who was staring at me and my weapons with clear wonder, "And you to, Stevan. I regret that I cannot spend more time speaking with you just now but perhaps later?"

"It would be an honor," breathed the woman.

I smiled warmly and winked at Stevan before continuing on my way. The meeting made me happy, a taste of the ordinary and finally faces to put to the names of the people Eragon had spoken of from his home. I would try and seek them out when I had a spare moment if only to give myself a chance to let myself relax and forget the many demands, responsibilities and titles. I knew that Brom had benefited from some time spent catching up with Jeod and it had eased his bad mood if only temporarily – only Eragon's safe return could completely lift it. But that was, again, temporary until his son went winging off to his next dangerous destination.

Coming to a stop in front of Orrin's tent where the council was to be held, I paused for a brief moment and gathered myself. With my face firmly set in a polite, attentive mask and making sure every last strand of hair was where it was supposed to be, I pushed the flap of the tent open and stepped inside.

Nasuada, Murtagh and Brom were already there. In fact I seemed to be the last person there. But I didn't let that bother me in the slightest and my greetings to those gathered were quiet and met with only slight annoyance on the part of Orrin. Isn't there something about being 'fashionably' late? I suppose Orrin felt he was one of the few entitled to being 'fashionably' late but one of these days I would give him a little surprise and maybe reevaluate his view of me. I had, apparently, gone from attractive (how disgusting to think of it like that!) and intriguing to beneath his notice. The dangers of kingship were so apparent when you were on the outside, I suppose.

I took my seat, just across from Murtagh and with Jormunder to my right, and the meeting began

With a brief flicker of a smile in Murtagh's direction I turned my full attention to the conversation that I had been summoned to listen to. I didn't need to hear much to know that all my suspicions of this King and his plans were correct. This was no way to win a war and no way for the Varden to survive. I couldn't stand this kind of foolishness and I had an agenda to keep to – one set by the future.

I choose my moment when there was a break in the voices and spoke carefully, stripping all emotion from my voice, keeping it neutral and professional. "Then let us continue as we planned," I said. I knew I was playing a dangerous game now, but it was clear that there was dissension in the ranks of Orrin's court, and I had always been taught to manipulate such situations to my advantage.

"Speak," said Orrin and his voice practically oozed his frustration with the resistance he had not expected to meet. Though why he hadn't when it was Nasuada he was dealing with I could not say.

I folded my hands and said nothing. Murtagh's eyebrows shot up and he gazed at me worriedly. But I remained perfectly and infuriatingly calm.

"Speak," snarled Orrin as his control reached the breaking point.

"You do not command me," I said quietly. "You _cannot_ command me."

There was a long silence.

Everyone was gazing between me and the King as they waited for Orrin to make his move. Nasuada was sitting very still in her chair, her face stony still as if not sure she should intervene. Yet I saw  
>other emotions cross the captain's faces as if they were grateful I had challenged the King so. I had been correct; there was dissension in the ranks of Orrin's men, and though Orrin may be King that did not mean he was liked. Here was a weakness I could exploit to ensure the continued movement of this army.<p>

Murtagh was staring at me, dark eyes wide with something that may have been admiration.

"What is your suggestion?" asked Brom with amusement clearly audible in his rough voice though he tried to hide it. He was asserting the Varden's power now and I knew it had to sting Orrin a little.

I leaned forward slightly and said evenly, "We waste valuable time here trying to secure every little town and city. Valuable lives are being lost even as we speak because of these little campaigns." I paused and allowed this to sink in. Heads were nodding and I saw Nasuada lean forward as if hoping I could force these weak-willed Surdans to agree with us. "However," I pressed, having made his point, "these campaigns have worked to our advantage. We now control many of the Empire's major staging points from which it planned to attack Surda. We have some idea of the placement and size of the Empire's army and we know how to attack them." I could barely keep the smugness out of my voice but I did. Glancing at Murtagh across the table I passed the ball to him.

"The Empire is split," said Murtagh. "We have never been so close before. They are weaker then we could have hoped for." He finished and looked around the table, challenging any one of the Lords to disagree with him. His words as captain of the growing network of spies and after the numerous successes he had had in Surda adding weight to his words and his standing in Surda's politics.

"We can do it," said one of Orrin's most trusted and powerful commanders. He seemed like a bulldog type of personality – the kind who would point blank refuse to ever let go of something once they got onto it. Orrin's complete opposite in matters of war. I liked him. "The Varden are correct." He looked at his King and suddenly everyone was waiting for him to speak.

Orrin was looking at me. I could see a glint of grudging respect as if he had seen the trap I had just placed him in and knew, like all those around this table, that to refuse would make him look like a weak king and weak kings are easy to kill. Cowardly kings never last very long – especially in the middle of a war. Sooner or later people get sick of them and they end up dead from arsenic on book pages, a knife concealed in a robe or a dart of deadly poison.

I met the King's gaze quietly, not challenging him but not admitting defeat either.

Nasuada said carefully, "Are we in agreement then? We shall continue with the Varden's plan?"

"We are," said the King and his full gaze returned to me as if telling me to enjoy those words and the victory they granted me. "We are. Now onto the next matter…"

And the meeting descended into the usual and dull affair that these sorts of things usually were. I allowed myself to breathe a small sigh of relief but I was aware of the gazes of the Surda lords and advisors all through the meeting. They would not forget this meeting nor would they forget me but I could not change it now.

As it came to an end and we all filed out to complete our various tasks, I felt a light touch on my shoulder. I turned to see Nasuada, her guards already gathering around her, and I met her slightly wondering gaze. The hot sun beat down as the various advisors and captains dispersed around

"Why?" she queried in a voice too low for anyone else around us to hear.

"We must go to war," I said simply, "and so I acted as I saw fit to accomplish the goal you clearly had in mind." I spoke the last pointedly and she had the good sense to look faintly embarrassed.

"You are always surprising me," said the Lady of the Varden.

"Good," I said with a faint smirk before I turned away to catch up with Murtagh and Brom. "That is the way I like it."

I fell into step beside Murtagh and I relaxed a little as his fingers brushed against the back of my hand. We were not open in our affections where the Varden would see us. Our kisses were stolen in private and we did our best to appear indifferent to the other when too many eyes could see. Such is the price that we both had to pay and after months apart it didn't seem as bad as it might have.

Brom sent me a quiet look as we walked along, "Was that wise?"

I shrugged and focused my gaze on the pale blue sky, "It did the job."

The old man let out a snort and his face fell back into the scowl that had remain fixed on it since Eragon had gone winging off with Saphira and the cousin that Brom was not sure he could like anymore. "Here I thought you wanted to stay out of the public eye."

"I have failed so miserably in that endeavor," I said with a small, miserable laugh, "that I have given up, Brom."

"Come," said the man and he stopped in front of a tent that was slightly larger than the ones assigned to us common soldiers. It was even bigger than even Eragon's and I wondered how Brom had managed to score it. Irritating old man got all the luck sometimes. "Let us leave our duties behind for a minute of peace with no arguments or," and his eyes flickered between us and glittered with teasing amusement, "kissing."

"What an awful old man you are," I said as I stepped past him and into the tent that was the current home of a red dragon egg and a mysterious trunk that he refused (it was infuriating after all I had done to secure said trunk) to explain about. "I'm not sure why I like you."

"I feel the same," said the old man with a chuckle. Murtagh just rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the bed while I stretched out on sort of folding bench. There were still many things to do – too many things – but for a brief few minutes we forgot all about them and then, when they came crashing back down as we all dispersed for our tasks, they seemed twice as heavy as before.

I will show Murtagh the egg soon.

I will wait until Saphira is back and Eragon nearly back. I will wait until I have a way for the newly hatched dragon and Rider to be whisked safely away towards the little bit of training they will get from Oromis and Glaedr. The dragonling will need to grow at least a little and he should do that away from an army camp. This was always my plan. I knew how I would work it and I hoped, so desperately, that it would succeed.

The sun beat down on me and the memory of the council meeting with Orrin was a chilling reminder of the difficulties of managing those used to power.

I hope I am not losing my way.

My confidence is not as sure as it might seem.

The sun was just sending its welcomed rays up into the sky when Roran found himself being awoken by Eragon. Already the Rider had outfitted himself in a few of pieces of recently cleaned and repaired armor. The fine mail glinted in the sunlight and Roran winced at the brightness as he forced his eyes open and glanced around. His cousin had been busy, the camp had been cleared away and all that remained to do was roll up his own bedroll and extract a promise from this Rider who was, beneath all the changes, his cousin.

Meeting those strangely deep, old eyes that were his cousin's but at the same time not, Roran asked him. "Will you look after Katrina if anything…?"

Eragon did not let him finish. "I shall do all in my power to care for her." The words sounded oddly formal, but at the same time Roran was glad for that. They were serious and spoken not by the bubbling cousin he remembered, but the Rider that now stood before him who had no reason to break his word for he stood for things like honor and truth.

Eragon muttered something under his breath and, before Roran could ask what it was, he explained. "There. That will filter the air in front of us and protect us from the paralyzing effects of the Ra'zac's breath."

Moving quickly, Roran outfitted himself in the mail he had been provided by the Varden though, unlike his cousin, he carried one of the shields from Carvahall. The shield had lasted through skirmishes and one battle – it seemed right to carry it until it could no longer serve. He glanced over at his cousin who was already armed with his red sword and an elegant bow that did not resemble the one Roran remembered. This one was fitted with silver and decorated with elegant scroll work upon the grip. What, wondered the young man, had happened to the one he had helped Garrow create long ago for his cousin? Did Eragon no longer carry even that memento of his home?

Saphira kneaded the soil beneath her feet. _Let us be off! _

Roran suppressed a small shiver at her words. He still found it both unnatural and disconcerting to hear the dragon's voice echo through his mind.

Leaving their bags and supplies hanging from the branch of a juniper tree, Eragon and Roran clambered onto Saphira's back. They wasted no time saddling her; she had worn her saddle through the night. The molded leather was warm, almost hot, underneath Roran. Gripping his cousin's waist and suppressing his foolish fear of flying, he braced himself for the take-off. He was certain that he would never ever come to enjoy flying no matter what Eragon or Saphira said on the subject.

A piece of shale cracked under Saphira's weight as she settled into a low crouch and, in a single giddy bound, leaped up to the rim of the gulch, where she balanced for a moment before unfolding her massive wings. The thin membranes thrummed as Saphira raised them toward the sky. Vertical, they looked like two translucent blue sails – painfully reminiscent of the long weeks spent on a sip at sea with villagers and coarse tongued sailors. He would not forget that leg of the journey easily.

Roran automatically tightened his grip on his cousin's waist and wished, not for the last time, that they were both safely on the ground that was rapidly falling away from them.

"Not so tight," grunted Eragon.

"Sorry," said Roran. He loosened his embrace, but he would not let go. He would not let go of the cousin who was so central to this mission.

Further speech became impossible as Saphira jumped again and Roran's stomach jumped with her. This was why he had not eaten anything – he would have lost it in this mad flight.

When she reached the pinnacle, she brought her wings down with a mighty _whoosh, _driving the three of them even higher. With each subsequent flap, they climbed closer to the flat, narrow clouds. Roroan closed his eyes and refused to look down. He knew he was missing out on a spectacular view, but he really didn't care. Instead he focused on thoughts of Katrina and his dead father. The anger burned within him and gave him a surging feeling of energy and anger that drove away his fear of flying so high.

He would see them dead. Dead and gone – his love returned and his father avenged.

Eragon had cautioned him not to be rash and allow revenge to cloud his vision, but he needed it right then. He needed to the warm rush and burn of it that made him grip his hammer so tightly that it hurt because, without it, he was not sure he would stand half a chance against the creatures. The sudden tilt of Saphira as she turned to the left and whipped around the scree slope of the black mountain temporarily erased the red-tinged thoughts from his mind. Forcing himself to speak, he shouted at the back of his cousin's head.

"Well?"

"The slaves are gone!"

A great weight pressed into Roran as Saphira pulled out of her dive and spiraled up around Helgrind, searching for an entrance to the Ra'zac's hideout. He could not wait to be back on solid ground. Such heights on a dragon were all very well for a Rider, but not for a mortal like him.

_Saphira _slowed and hung in place before a ridge that connected the third lowest of the four peaks to the prominence above. The jagged buttress magnified the boom produced by each stroke of her wings until it was as loud as a thunderclap. The Ra'zac would know something was here, thought Roran, for dragons did not seem very quiet.

Roran suddenly felt the world lurch as Saphira answered his question tried to perch on a crumbling spur. As she tried to land, she lost her balance for a moment and flared her wings to steady herself. Instead of brushing against the bulk of Helgrind, the tip of her right wing dipped into the rock and then back out again. Roran didn't quite believe his eyes. His discomfort forgotten about, he leaned a little against his cousin to see better.

Leaning forward, Saphira pushed the tip of her snout toward the sheer rock, paused an inch or two away—as if waiting for a trap to spring—then continued her advance. Scale by scale, Saphira's head slid into Helgrind, until all that was visible of her was a neck, torso, and wings.

More magic, wondered Roran as he stared at the sight before him. Was this just more evidence of powers that eclipsed his imagination?

With a surge of power, Saphira abandoned the spur and flung the rest of her body after her head.

It required every bit of Roran's self-control not to cover his face in a desperate bid to protect himself as the crag rushed toward him. But it didn't matter for Eragon was right before him and the Rider didn't seem at all worried. It was one of the more terrifying experiences of his life and something he would not easily forget.

An instant later, he found himself looking at a broad, vaulted cave suffused with the warm glow of morning. Saphira's scales refracted the light, casting thousands of shifting blue flecks across the rock. Twisting around, Roran saw no wall behind them, only the mouth of the cave and a sweeping view of the landscape beyond.

He couldn't stop himself from swearing (quietly) in his cousin's pointed ear, "Warn me before you do something like that again." Hunching forward, his cousin did not reply as he began to unbuckle his legs from the saddle. No doubt he was already studying their surroundings, alert for danger, and Roran had to simmer in silence as he followed suit.

His eyes took in the opening to the cave. It was an irregular oval, perhaps fifty feet high and sixty feet wide. From there the chamber expanded to twice that size before ending a good bowshot away in a pile of thick stone slabs that leaned against each other in a confusion of uncertain angles. A mat of scratches defaced the floor, evidence of the many times the strange dragon-like creaatures, that Eragon called 'Lethrblaka,' had taken off from, landed on, and walked about its surface.

In the gloom, Roran could just make out five low tunnels pierced the sides of the cave. A passageway large enough to accommodate Saphira was also one the side. The Rider, completely still and quiet, examined the tunnels carefully, but to Roran they were just visible. He wished he had better eyesight like his cousin for, in this black cavern, he felt as if someone had just pulled a blindfold over his eyes. Concentrating on his other senses he breathed in the smell of cold stone and the all too familiar scent of sickly sweet fetor of rotting meat.

Leaping off as his cousin did, Roran stumbled slightly on the uneven ground. Saphira had crouched to try and make the jump smaller for him, but he still did not understand how his cousin could make it look so easy as if he was stepping off a stair.

Roran glanced around. He could not see his cousin who was on the opposite side of Saphira, but he could feel his hair rise. This was an unnatural place and, suddenly, he was terribly grateful for the warmth of Saphira and the assistance of her Rider. He would not have been able to win his battle alone in this place.

But he didn't have long to get himself together and stare around at the thick shadowed walls. None of them did. For, a second later, a huge, twisted shape hurtled out of the lancet passageway. The eyes were black, bulging, and rimless. A beak seven feet long emerged like some horror story of a nightmare. Batlike wings. The torso naked, hairless, rippling with muscle. Claws like iron spikes.

It was the Lethrblaka, realized Eragon as Saphira lurched to the side to try and evade the creature, but to no avail. The creature crashed into her right side and Roran was left without her solid presence beside him. He saw Eragon be sent spinning away and into the ground only to force himself upright though Eragon saw him grimace in pain. He swayed a little and Roran was torn with indecision as he pressed himself against the wall of the cavern to avoid the massive fight between Saphira and the Lethrblaka who rolled across the cave, kicking and clawing and snapping at each other with enough force to gouge the rock beneath them.

What did he do? When would the foul creatures attack him now that he was out in the open? What about Eragon who, while able to look after himself, was in an even more vulnerable position than he was?

Suddenly, from between Saphira's jaws, a torrent of blue fire erupted and bathed the left side of the Lethrblaka's head in a ravening inferno hot enough to melt steel. The flames curved around the Lethrblaka without harming it. More magic? thought Roran in amazement. Undeterred, the monster pecked at Saphira's neck, forcing her to stop and defend herself.

Fast as an arrow loosed from a bow, the second Lethrblaka darted out of the lancet passageway, pounced upon Saphira's flank, and, opening its narrow beak, uttered a horrible, withering shriek that made Roran want to cry out as a cold lump of dread form in his gut. He suddenly wanted out. He was suddenly aware of how mortal he was and how out of place and unprotected he was in a world where magic turned away flames and turned open air into a solid mountain face.

He coughed as the smell now, with both Lethrblaka present, grew into something fouler than anything he had ever smelled. He was pressed against the side of the cave and he knew he had to rise. Something, anything, could happen to him when he was so distracted by the sights and smells that assaulted him.

A sudden feeling of dread made him whip around. But before he could even know what was happening, Eragon cried out a word in that strange language and a ball of bright blue fire surged past Roran. For, as the young man realized a second later, his cousin had seen the two Ra'zac slipping up behind him. The two Ra'zac had emerged from a nearby tunnel and gone unnoticed by Roran who had his back to them and couldn't hear them because of the clamor from the battle before him. They wielded long, pale blades of an ancient design in their malformed hands. Unlike their parents, the Ra'zac were roughly the same size and shape as humans. An ebony exoskeleton encased them from top to bottom, although little of it showed, for even in Helgrind, the Ra'zac wore dark robes and cloaks.

While the creatures dodged, and the fireball splashed against the rock floor, guttered for a moment, and then winked out of existence, it had given Roran time to spin and prepare himself to fight. It had also given Eragon just enough time to reach Roran's side and press his back against his cousin's.

"Why don't you do something?" demanded Roran of his cousin. He was disconcerted by his cousin's seeming lack of magical wonders. No spears of pure energy? No glittering ropes that fell upon their enemies and caught them up? Saphira already bore several long scratches from what Roran could make out in the dim light of the cavern.

"Hold them off for a minute," shouted Eragon right back and Roran had to set aside his angry question as he lifted his shield and hammer in preparation to fight. His cousin had gone very still behind him and Roran was left facing the two hooded monsters.

They wasted no time. Both of them came at him, quick and so unbelievably strong, and he managed to defend himself a little before, what seemed an instant later, one sword thudded against his shield, followed by the tinkle of rippling mail and the bell-like peal of a second sword bouncing off his helm. That blow made him falter for a brief moment and he was lost in the heat of the fight.

He was quickly reminded of why these were such dangerous foes. He was just too slow and the Ra'zac struck again and again. Their blows only grew in force and in speed even as Roran found his muscles burning with the strain of even trying to keep up with them. Strong by the standards of men he may be, but without Eragon's wards he would have been dead a thousand times over. Their cruel weapons glanced off his armor or missed his face and limbs by a hairsbreadth, no matter how fast they swung their blades. The inability to land a solid blow made them hiss with frustration and demonstrated that despite their hard, clacking jaws which mangled human language, they were still quite capable of swearing.

His fighting style was not graceful or even slightly elegant like the dances of sword that his cousin was probably capable of. It was effective, however, and it was, at least for now, holding them back. But Roran could see, just out of the corner of his eyes, the largest of the two Ra'zac beginning to edge around him, in order to attack Eragon directly. He could only hope his cousin was aware of this because one Ra'zac was quite enough for him to be dealing with.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but one second he was defending himself and the next the unpleasant, painful feeling of a sword slashing through metal and sinking into his flesh made him gasp. The metal was cold and he couldn't stop the cry of pain that escaped his lips as the sword left his flesh. The cry was lost, he thought, amid the sounds of steel against steel, and steel against wood, and claws against stone, but clearly he was wrong. Clearly Eragon was more attuned to the world than he had thought for the Rider suddenly exploded into action behind him.

As the large Ra'zac leapt towards the Rider the red sword was suddenly out and the sight of it made both of the creatures hiss in panic. Then, just as the Rider deflected the blade that would have skewered him, he cried out in that language again. Whatever the spell did it made the bulbous eyes of the Lethrblaka with the broken wing become a matched set of mirrors, each a perfect hemisphere, as Eragon's magic reflected the light that otherwise would have entered the Lethrblaka's pupils. Blind, the creature stumbled and flailed at the air in a vain attempt to hit Saphira.

Roran did not have any more time to think of the flurry of motion his cousin had suddenly become as he engaged with the fight. His side was already slick with his own blood and the world was starting to slow down. But Eragon seemed to know all of this without even bothering to pause. He was suddenly not only defending himself, but Roran as well. He parried a blow with the red sword that would have surely killed Roran and then delivered, in short succession, a killing blow to one of the creatures.

It happened so fast.

Roran did not think anyone could move as fast as the Ra'zac but his cousin clearly could. His cousin was now a blur of motion as the terribly injured Ra'zac stumbled backwards and the other launched a series of vicious attacks – completely forgetting Roran in its anger. The Rider was more than up to the challenge it seemed to Roran who had stepped backwards so he could rest one arm on the rough rock wall and press the other to painful, throbbing wound in his side.

Through pain hazed eyes he watched as his cousin and the Ra'zac became blurs of motion. The one Ra'zac had stumbled to the ground a few feet from Roran and was not moving, the other in an ill-conceived movement extended himself a little too far and had the sword knocked from its hand by the grim-faced, dark-eyed Rider.

The Ra'zac let out a screech. "How?" it snarled at the Rider.

"I am much changed then the last time we met," replied the Rider quietly and in a voice silky soft in its danger. "By the way you did not kill her. You failed."

What was Eragon speaking of? Who had the Ra'zac failed to kill?

The creature let out a long hiss, "She is different. Different then even you, Rider. You are stronger than last we met."

Eragon raised his sword and said, "I have trained long for this Ra'zac and we are not so easy to kill."

But Eragon did not have time to finish of the creature.

At that exact moment, the blinded, broken winged Lethrblaka flew the width of the cave and slammed against the far wall, knocking loose a shower of stone flakes from the ceiling. The sight and sound were so colossal, they caused Eragon, Roran, and the Ra'zac to flinch and turn, simply out of instinct. The blood from the wound in his side, noted the young man, was warm and still flowing not at all slowed by the hard pressure he was applying to the injury.

Jumping after the crippled Lethrblaka, which she had just kicked, Saphira sank her teeth into the back of the creature's sinewy neck. The Lethrblaka thrashed in one final effort to free itself, and then Saphira whipped her head from side to side and broke its spine. Rising from her bloody kill, Saphira filled the cave with a savage roar of victory.

The remaining Lethrblaka did not hesitate. Tackling Saphira, it dug its claws underneath the edges of her scales and pulled her into an uncontrolled tumble. Together they rolled to the lip of the cave, teetered for a half second, and then dropped out of sight, battling the whole way.

Eragon cast one last glance at the open entrance from which the dragon and creature had tumbled over and then he seemed to come to a decision. He looked fierce standing there with a red sword in one hand and his face set in the cold mask of fighting. It was moments like this when Roran was sharply reminded of just how distant his cousin was these days.

The other Ra'zac vanished into the depths of the nearest tunnel. Before Roran could say anything, his cousin closed his eyes and muttered a burst of words before explaining, "I sealed off Katrina's cell so the Ra'zac can't use her as a hostage. Only you and I can open the door now."

"Good," said Roran through clenched teeth. Was his cousin currently blind? "Can you do something about this?" He jerked his chin toward the spot he had clamped his right hand over. Blood welled between his fingers and soaked his tunic and coated the mail in a slick red liquid.

"You're lucky," said Eragon. "The sword hit a rib." Roran certainly didn't feel lucky or particularly skilled - without Eragon he would be dead and it hurt to suddenly be faced with how inferior his skills were now in comparison to Eragon. Not only was he slower and louder, but he was not the warrior or magician or even the politician. Such thoughts, poisonous as they were, had haunted him as he did his best to reconnect with Eragon.

Placing one hand on the injury and the other on his sword belt, Eragon spoke confidently. "Waíse heill!" A ripple traversed Roran's side as the magic knit his skin and muscle back together again.

Then Eragon healed his own wound: the gash on his left knee that Roran had not seen him receive.

Finished, the Rider straightened and glanced in the direction that Saphira had gone. He clearly wished to go after her and help her, but Roran was so close…she was here! One creature remained to kill and there was no time to waste. They had to get this over with.

Resting a hand on his cousin's shoulder he said, "Hurry! They're getting away!"

"Right." But his cousin could not seem to stop from looking one more time at the entrance and then, shaking his head slightly, he hefted the ruby sword and followed Roran's lead as they approached the unlit tunnel. Roran allowed him to lead and tried, as best he could, to stop his feet from making echoes as they began to move down a winding shaft that had been carved from the rock. The rock was coated in slime and Roran wanted to gag at the smell of damp mold. The air was moist and hard to breathe. The tunnel was so dark that he couldn't even see his cousin a few inches in front of him.

After a score of yards, several folds and twists in the passageway hid the main cavern and plunged them into a gloom so profound, he could not stand it any longer. The dark was pressing in on him and making him feel as if he might be crushed by the stone that surrounded him. It made him want to curse and run back the way they had come.

"Maybe you're different, but I can't fight in the dark," whispered Roran towards the spot he knew his cousin was.

"If I make a light, the Ra'zac won't come near us, not when I now know a spell that works on them. They'll just hide until we leave. We have to kill them while we have the chance." His cousin was calm as if the strangling darkness or smothering air had no effect on him.

Gritting his teeth to try and control himself, he hissed as quietly as he could. "What am I supposed to do? I'm more likely to run into a wall and break my nose than I am to find those two beetles. . . . They could sneak around behind us and stab us in the back."

"Shh. . . . Hold on to my belt, follow me, and be ready to duck." His cousin sounded confident in whatever his plan was and so Roran just had to hope that the Rider knew what he was doing. For, in this blackness, none of his senses seemed to work and he felt a tendril of chilling fear grow inside of him as they went deeper into the mountain. Only the glittering light of hope that Katrina was there could make him feel any better.

Step by step, Eragon led the way as they burrowed farther into the bowels of Helgrind. The tunnel slanted downward and often split or turned, but Eragon never faltered in the path he choose for them and, sometime in the future, Roran would have to ask him on it.

After what seemed like an hour trapped in the darkness—though it could not have been that long—and after descending more than a hundred feet through Helgrind, Eragon stopped on a level patch of stone. The sudden halt made Roran nearly collide into him. Before he could question what was happening, his cousin touched his mind and his voice reverberated in his mind. _Katrina's cell is_ _about fifty feet in front of us, on the right_ .

Resisting the urge to speak out loud he thought the words: _We can't risk letting her out until the Ra'zac are dead or gone. _

_What if they won't reveal themselves until we do let her out? For some reason, I can't sense_ _them. They could hide from me until doomsday in here. So do we wait for who knows how long, or_ _do we free Katrina while we still have the chance? I can place some wards around her that should_ _protect her from most attacks. _

Roran was quiet for a second, but his heart told him what he wanted the most. _Let's free her, then_.

They began to move forward again, feeling their way along the squat corridor with its rough, unfinished floor. Then suddenly his cousin flung him against the wall and Roran heard a faint clatter as an arrow landed on stone. His cousin cried out: "Kveykva!"

Red light, bright as the midday sun, flared into existence. It had no source, and thus it illuminated every surface evenly and without shadows, giving things a curious flat appearance. The sudden blaze dazzled Roran who was still pressed by his cousin's arm to the stone wall, but it did more than that to the lone Ra'zac in front of him; the creature dropped its bow, covered its hooded face, and screamed high and shrill.

Roran didn't think. His cousin had killed the other one and now it was his turn. It was his turn to seek the revenge that had eluded him. Without thinking he charged forward towards the light dazzled creature that cowered before them. His hammer, the faithful tool turned weapon, was raised high. The disoriented monster stumbled backward but was too slow. For once, for a brief moment, the creature was just that little too slow and Roran took his revenge.

The hammer fell.

"For my father!" shouted Roran. He struck again. "For our home!" The Ra'zac was already dead, but Roran lifted the hammer once more. "For Carvahall!" His final blow shattered the Ra'zac's carapace like the rind of a dry gourd. In the merciless ruby glare, the spreading pool of blood appeared purple. The fire of the fight still burned in him as it mixed with his pain and lingering grief. He was barely aware of Eragon coming to stand beside him.

"It is done," said Eragon.

"Yes."

He and Roran looked at each other. Roran suddenly realized that his cousin was bleeding from a wound on his face and that, at that moment, the wound seemed to be bubbling.

"Ahh!" cried Eragon, and clutched his cheek.

"It's bubbling!" exclaimed Roran and he suddenly wondered what he should do. In a completely useless gesture of panic he cried, "Do something!"

His cousin managed to send him a brief glare before he began to murmur in that other language. A moment later no sign of the damage remained on the Rider's faintly glowing skin. With a grim smile, Eragon said, "Imagine the state we'd be in without magic."

Roran could think of many responses to that. But he held them back and just said simply, "Without magic, we wouldn't have Galbatorix to worry about."

You wouldn't be a Rider and my father wouldn't be dead. Thousands would not be dying in a war fought for freedom and revenge right now. No, without magic many things would not have happened and I might not have to struggle to know how I am supposed to treat you because you are so different from the cousin I know.

Eragon did not reply to that. Though Roran could see that his cousin agreed and knew all the other things that went unsaid as if he had spent a great deal of time thinking of them as he fought and trained. With a flicker of his fingers, the Rider extinguished the omnipresent red glow. Quietly he conjured another light that remained anchored six inches from the ceiling. The light was clear and cast everything in harsh relief. The stone black and gleaming with slime appeared even more vicious.

Glancing around, Roran saw that they were in a stone hallway was dotted with twenty or so ironbound doors, some on either side. Which one was Katrina's? He wanted to see her and see her now. Eragon seemed to know this for he wasted no time before he pointed and said, "Ninth down, on the right. You go get her. I'll check the other cells. The Ra'zac might have left something interesting in them."

Roran was already moving. There was no key on the Ra'zac so he did not bother with asking for any more assistance. This was his own task and a small spark of gratitude grew inside of him when Eragon did not bother with offering it. He would be the one to rescue her and hope that, after all the things she had endured, that she was still sane and still willing to love him.

That thought was too painful. He had tried not to think that she might be destroyed beyond even Eragon or time's healing abilities. Gertrude had warned him of this once just before he left – Katrina might be broken beyond repair by the things she had experienced or changed irrevocably by them. Or, just as worse, that after all that loving him had done to her she would want no more part of him. For him she had lost her home, her father, her freedom and, perhaps, her hope and belief in the world because of Roran.

Was love always this costly? Was Eragon right to wait until times were more certain – the darkness defeated – to love?

As he stopped in front of the right door he abandoned his shield and set to work on the hinges hammer. Each blow created a frightful crash. Each one was so satisfying and each one brought him that much closer to the girl that had never been far from his heart or mind these past months. He redoubled his efforts on the door as if, by striking harder, he could somehow change things or show her how far he had come just for her. He had saved the village as best he could – houses could be rebuilt and fields could be planted again – and he had convinced the last Rider of Alagaesia to come with him just to save her. Would that count? Would fate see fit to reward him with Katrina – his Katrina – after all he had done?

He had to leap to the side as the door came crashing to the floor.

But then…

He looked into the narrow, dark interior of the cell.

And there she was.

Cowering against the wall and shielding her pale, thin, worn face with one arm. Her dress was ripped and torn with blood stains. Heavy manacles were around her wrists and ankles, the metal had chaffed her and there were bruises on her skin as well as accumulated weeks of dirt. But never before had he thought she looked more beautiful to him. Because it was her and, deep down, he had never expected to see her again. He thought he would be dead before he ever got the chance.

"Katrina," he murmured and then again louder. "It's me. Roran."

She lowered her arm and turned her pale, fear-filled eyes to look at him. A small, wondering smile grew across her face as she realized that it truly was him and not some dream – some wondrous dream her mind had created to try and save itself in the dark prison. Those were her eyes, blue and clear like a winter sky. They gleamed with familiar love and it seemed that the sound of him rekindled a spark of joy and hope in those irises.

Somehow he knew it would be alright.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I hope that this chapter is a little more unique. Once more I apologize for how canon the last one was but it was also my way of nodding to the original creator of this story as well as not getting caught in a 'no writing' space. <em>**

**_Review Replies:_**

**_guitarmorseknopfler: I am aware of how identical it was but there really isn't much changing I can do to the Ra'zac scenes which is why I did this one from Roran's POV. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this chapter and Zoe's return as well as a little sparring with  
>Orrin...<em>**

**_Miara: haha so glad you enjoy it! :) I won't stop writing - ever!_**

**_Nimtheriel: Thorn will be coming soon...just have to wait a little longer and then we will get adorable little red baby dragon :) Thank you for the review and it awesome to have you on this side of the story as we move towards the end! _**

**_peachycupcake: haha that is a good one...too true - a lack of movement...that's good!_**

**_Ray: I am aware of it and I am glad you like the lack of Romeo/Juliet love scenes. I guess I try to hit a balance with the fluff because they are in a war and they are practical people. So glad you enjoy it and big thank you for the review!_**

**_QueenKoboi: thanks! Hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

**_Islingr90: I think he might give the sword to Murtagh at this point - it is really Murtagh's after all. I am still thinking on it and a creative way of dealing with that situation. It was a bit ridiculous with all the love hearts floating around - hope you enjoy this chapter and big thank you!_**

**_live laugh play music: haha thanks! Here is your answer! :) thank you for the review!_**

**_GeneralTheDyingTitan: Thank you! Hope you enjoy this one :)_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: hope you enjoy this chapter more than the last one - I agree it was rather dull. Thorn will be showing up soon and that should perk things up! Thank you and happy reading/writing to you! :) _**


	66. A Moral Dilemma

_An unsettling silence hung around us as I walked through an empty hallway. It stretched endlessly in front of me, as if every step only made it longer and still longer again. Thin columns rose high above my head and, while elegant and delicate, they seemed now imposing – the beautiful carvings forgotten to my eyes. The marble was cold and the world suddenly seemed to have grown darker – everything uncertain. _

_Eomund and Pethred walked close beside me, their silence similar to mine: what did we do now? What secrets had been shared at the witness of Caer Daythl's cold stone walls? Why did we now have to face a civil war? It suddenly felt as if every passing maid, every guard bowing respectfully as we walked past, every noble that we encountered were watching us, waiting to act against us. _

_And yet, the words that consumed me more than anything else and made my mind and heart feel twisted into complicated knots. I could still hear the low hissed whisper inside of my mind: You are a fool. You should have died that day. The poisonous words felt colder than the marble around me, as if a chilled knife of hopelessness and failure stabbed into my chest. _

_We reached the door to the private family sitting room. Silently we entered the once comforting room that now just reminded us of our mother – dead for three years now – and a father who was currently arguing hard in a council room we could not enter. _

_I could not place the emotions that nearly drove me to tears. Hurt at the harsh words and obvious rejection. There was a feeling of idiocy at hearing all laid out in those few words – all my failures, fears, the opposition to my actions – my chosen life - and the looming destruction of the world. Tears pricked my eyes and I was barely aware of Pethred, lost in his own thoughts, walking over to the tall windows. His deep blue eyes hard, cold, their expression one of a crown prince - no longer where they open and kind or the ones of my dear brother. _

_Eomund took my hand and squeezed it tightly, but he could not stop the feelings. I tried to keep my face hard and composed, but it was nearly impossible. Even his reassuring warm hand could not ease the tight, cold knot in my stomach or the lump in my throat. _

_"You have not done anything wrong," whispered Eomund in the still air of the sitting room. His grey eyes were soft and one of his hands brushed my face. Dark shadows looked like bruises under his eyes. _

_"How do you know?" I demanded. The sharpness in my voice making Pethred glance over at us as my nerves reached their breaking point, my hands trembling slightly as the Lord's words hissed through my mind. _

_Eomund did not move, liquid eyes staring into my own, and his face entirely serious. I raised my trembling hands to my face for a moment, and closed my eyes. He stepped forward and embraced me tightly in his strong arms, the younger offering the older the comfort they needed for once. _

_"Forgive me," I breathed into his dark hair. "Forgive me, brother." _

_"There is nothing to forgive," said Pethred as he added his own embrace and encircled us both. "We have all done the same things..." _

_"Zoe!" cried the voice of a Ranger to my left as our galloping horses took a sharp turn to the left in order to evade a tall tree. _

_Before the Ranger had finished saying my name, I had already drawn an arrow to my bow, not even looking as I released it, sending the projectile flying through the air to our right side. A high-pitched cry, echoed through the rushing air and I heard more sickening cries as other arrows were loosed. Adrenalin made me more alive and my horse surged beneath me, sure footed upon the forest floor. _

_"Seven!" I cried as I lowered my bow. Of course we counted our kills!_

_I glanced to my left and saw one of my fellow Rangers whose eyes sparkled with sharp awareness. The wind was cold and deafening as we galloped. The cries had stopped momentarily, but in the distance I could hear more running through the forest and we were far from safety. _

_An arrow flew past my left year, but a Ranger reacted before I did and soon we were once more shooting to the sides at the enemies that were trying to keep up with us. The vegetation was becoming scarce around us, small creeks emerging from the rocks and the stones becoming larger until they were boulders. I ducked as another arrow flew over my head, missing me by mere inches. But we were moving faster and our arrows flew true. _

_Suddenly I heard a soft cry from the Ranger that rode knee to knee with me. His name was Carlan and I glanced over to see his body sharply tensing as his face clenched with agony. The black shaft of an arrow protruded from his thigh, crimson blood already starting to ooze from the wound. _

_I reached out one hand and gripped his shoulder tightly, trying to send some of my own strength into him to keep him steady until we could stop. He wavered only slightly in the saddle, but he managed keep himself on the speeding horse. Behind us the cries had stopped and no longer could I sense our enemies around us. This had been a small group and small patrol of four riders had come across them, killed most of them, but a few had escaped and had chased us. _

_We brought our horses to a halt, three of us jumping down from our horses in quick graceful moves. I hurried around to Carlan's side and, with the help of my other companions, managed to get him down to the ground. His eyes shut in obvious pain as his right foot touched the rocky ground. _

_I took the reins of the horses and led them down the narrow path between the boulders that then led into a stone tunnel with a ceiling that was too low to ride through. In front Carlan and the other two Rangers helped him down. If we didn't have to leave and leave quickly we would not have pushed him so, but we had no choice. If more Huntsmen appeared then we would be outnumbered. _

_Light filtered through irregular openings above, where the rocks separated from each other in an infinite dance, making the light beams appear like golden lines in the darkness of the passage. There were more ways out of the passage we hurried down and the currents of air blew from different places, the breeze twirling around. We splashed through a shallow stream that flew through the mountain and the water, deadly cold, made me shiver. The horses, nervous, tossed their heads and we had to stop for a few minutes to let Carlan catch his breath. His face deadly pale and soon he would not be able to continue as the pain became too much. _

_I felt relief as a large opening appeared in front of us. The light of the sun filtering in and I could make out thin lines of grey trees. We had come through a small mountain and the settlement where we based was an easy ride away. If we hurried we could get there before dark and into the safety of its thick walls. _

_We stopped a short distance from the opening, and I tended to the horses while the other two Rangers helped Carlan down. He remained silent, leaning against the stone, eyes closed as he caught his breath. It was time for the arrow to be removed, the bleeding staunched and then he would have to ride with one of us to the settlement where one of the professional healers who resided there would complete the care it would need._

_I hated it when one of my men was injured and, while I could tend to basic injuries, I was not strong enough to pull an arrow out. So I had to leave it up to the others to give Carlan what he needed while I made sure our horses were fit to continue. They were under my command – my responsibility – and I had to keep their interests to heart. It could have been me who was hit by the arrow – sometimes I wished it was me even though the men I commanded were supposed to keep me safe. I was their princess and they would die before I was captured or killed. _

_But still. _

_I tightened a loosened girth on the bay mare that belonged to Carlan. You would have thought by now it wouldn't affect me so, but it did. It would make me wince when Carlan's wife saw him later tonight, pale faced and unable to ride on his own, and looked at me for some conformation that this would be the last time she had her heart in her mouth. The last time she had to say farewell and spend the weeks glancing in the direction he had left for some sign of his safe return. It would make me grip my reins with tension when his lovely young daughter heard and came running to see if her father would live or join the dead in their silent resting place. _

_But I could not give her that promise. _

_And it made me hate myself…_

"Zoe," rang a voice. It came again, calling me out of my dreams and back to the waking world. Again it came, "Zoe!"

I forced my eyes open to find myself back in my small, dark tent. For a second I thought about struggling and then my sleepy fog cleared and I remembered where I was and who was gently shaking me. It was the middle of the night. Any sensible person should be asleep, but apparently Murtagh was not. The young man was leaning over me and one hand was on my cheek, his eyes looking down at me anxiously.

"What?" I asked as I shook my head and slowly sat up. His hand fell back and I realized that he hadn't even bothered buckling on his sword.

"You were troubled," he said softly, "and I felt it with my mind."

"My dreams were dark," I admitted. So he had touched my mind and sensed the dark memories that I was remembering. That had clearly been enough for him to come, wake me and save me from remembering any more than I already had. "Why are you here?"

He shrugged and I allowed him to pull me into an embrace. As we sat quietly, merely seeking the quietness of each other's company, I asked gently the question that had been eating at me since I had first seen Murtagh after landing with Eragon and Saphira. "What did happen, Murtagh? In Surda?"

He looked at me, but there was no surprise in his eyes. He knew it was only a matter of time before I asked and I half-wondered if he, like me, had dreamed of other times that were better left untouched. Had he come searching for comfort and felt my own silent distress when he reached out to see if I was awake? His eyes were dark and he glanced away, the simple action hurting me as I suddenly wondered if I had asked too much.

"I lost a friend," he said softly and his arm around me tightened. "I lost a friend who I hadn't thought about for a long time. Her name was Vivian. I'd known her before…before it all started."

"She was a spy for Galbatorix, wasn't she?" I said as I raised my eyes to look into his very still face.

"Yes," he said, "but it is because of her that we accomplished what we did…"

I read between the lines: Whatever she had done had cost her life and Murtagh took the blame for putting her in that position. She must have given him names or troop placements or maybe saved his life or identity…and the cost had been her life. Forever stuck in the climb of her life – a beautiful and brave girl. I sighed heavily and leaned into him, breathing in his scent as I tried to give him whatever comfort my presence could give. It was not enough, I knew, but I couldn't say anything for fear of making it worse. Some things just shouldn't be talked of.

When people die for you or because of you…it's not something you forget. It isn't always something you can talk about because, well, maybe you have to experience it. I can't describe it. I just can't. It is something you have to experience – you can't read my words and understand in the very marrow of your bones. You can't even come close to capturing the moment, the small details your mind seizes on and remembers or the kind of things one is thinking at that moment.

"You would have liked her," whispered Murtagh.

"I am sure I would have."

"I didn't tell anyone that I knew her as more than a spy - an enemy." Murtagh's arm was tight around me as if I might be ripped away at any second. "But she couldn't live if I did. One of us had to go." His words were choked with emotion.

"Shush…" I murmed as I drew back a little. I cupped his weary, pain filled face in my hands and shook my head. "Enough. Let it go, Murtagh….let it go."

"But…" he whispered.

"Let it go," I whispered and then, desperate to do something, I leaned forward and kissed him very gently on the lips. "Remember her, but do not despair over her."

"I am going to lose you," he whispered the terrible truth so softly I might have pretended I did not hear it, but I did and he knew I did. "I will lose you just as I lost her."

"Do not speak of it now," I said fiercely. I was hurting too much to think of that future parting or the bitter edge of this love. "Do not speak of it," I repeated as if somehow I could banish it once more to the nightmarish dreams and haunting questions that flitted at the edge of my mind. "Not this night Murtagh. Please do not speak of it this night."

I had, as a child, delighted in games, took pleasure and pride in the skills I amassed through training, I was apt at my duties of ceremony and governing, which were neither light nor simple. Yet I had never given myself entirely to anything, all had come rather easily to me – the trial and tribulations were what one would have expected and what I had been carefully prepared for. Through all of it I had strove for grace and collectedness; it had all been a game, but I had never played at love. There had not been time or the right set of circumstances to take me down that path. But I had been awoken, not by a game or dream, but by honor, danger, wisdom, by a quiet voice and a dark hand careless of its power, a sword with a hand-and-a-half hilt.

I threw it all away for him. Without caution, and with nothing held in reserve, I had taken that wild step forward and so had he.

Think of me just a few months ago, a weeping jelly of a girl who didn't have a foggy notion of who she really was. Think of me now, helping guiding an army through an unfamiliar world and the darkness of a war. The change is hard to capture in words – it's nearly impossible and I struggle with it every single time I set myself to this story. Think of me now…I can't even hope to explain it.

We didn't speak of anything for the rest of the night. We found comfort in the warmth of each other's embrace and we didn't move until it was time to go about our duties. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon line but we had much to do and little time to accomplish it. We didn't speak of that night for a long time or of the things that it had raised in both of our minds.

Sometimes you just can't talk about things.

It just hurts too much.

Sometimes the fear wins and the coward rules.

* * *

><p>When Eragon told the tale much later in his life he would try and explain exactly what he had been feeling the second his eyes landed on the man he had wished was dead since his agreement to come on this quest. He would try and explain the depth of the moral dilemma that had overwhelmed him. The untenable position it had placed him in and the way it had contradicted both his honor and his sense of justice.<p>

But, in the end, Murtagh would have the simplest way of describing it whenever the story came up and Eragon started struggling to find appropriate words. They were four words, still conveying all the punchy irritation even after many centuries passed since they were originally spoken.

You bloody, honorable IDIOT.

Which, depending on the company, would be followed with a few lines of carefully crafted expletives that explained just how big of an IDIOT Eragon really was. Just how foolish he had been to open himself up to moral despair over Sloan and how Murtagh would never let him forget it. Brothers are good for those sorts of things.

But, still, it was a rather good way of describing it. For, had it been Murtagh or Zoe or even Brom who had pulled open the cell door, they would have not hesitated and killed the miserable man. They would have done it either by the sword or through magic. There wouldn't have been any hesitation or questioning of moral ground or feelings of loss for a home long left behind.

Because it wasn't any of them who stood in this place right then. It was he, Eragon, who stood there and found himself suddenly unable to do what many others would have done without hesitation.

He couldn't bring himself to deliver Sloan, such a nasty fixture from his childhood, to a quiet death. The words of death would not come to his lips nor would his sword be raised. The man was a pitiful sight for he was emaciated, his hair was now white and sores had formed where the manacles had chafed. His eyes had been pecked out by the Ra'zac. His beloved daughter was about to be rescued by her love (a man Sloan despised) and said daughter hated. He was a hated man, a betrayer and, had anyone else been standing there, he would have faced justice and lost his life.

Death would have been a kindness.

A silent, peaceful death was more than many would say he deserved.

But Eragon could not bring himself to deliver it. The man was gazing with his empty eye sockets in Eragon's direction for he could hear the sounds of Roran's hammer.

This death would save not only Katrina from needless pain, but Roran and the other villagers from reopening bitter hatred when it was not needed. They could not linger in the past like that. It would bring only discord and distraction when everyone's focus had to be on the war around them, on the sliver of a promise of peace that lay after and not on the wrongs of the past.

"What do you want?" asked Sloan. He turned his head from side to side in an attempt to hear better for, now, he had no eyes on which to rely. "I already told you everything I know!"

Zoe had told him to follow his heart. She had looked at him with those deep blue-grey eyes that contained so much knowledge in their clear depths, her voice had rang clear though his mind since that moment.

_Follow your heart. It will not lead you astray. _

_But what if I do not know what it is saying? _

_Just remember that sometimes, by killing someone, you are doing them a favor. Sometimes it is selfishness that stays our hand when we should act. _

He trusted Zoe. She spoke from experience and she was the kind who made a choice and stuck to it. Maybe, in this gigantic universe, that was the only way to live. Was that only way to make any sense of this uncaring world where true impartiality was impossible? By making a choice, despite how much you might hate it or even if you didn't know the outcome, but making it anyways? He didn't have time to think of such thoughts - they were kind of thing he had time for after this blasted war determined if he was allowed to go free or die or be a prisoner to a mad King.

Even now Roran was breaking Katrina's cell door open and reassuring himself that she was still herself. That he had not come too late or that experiences had shattered her love for him. As they spoke Zoe and the others were waiting for him at the Varden as they moved towards another battle. Saphira was waiting for him outside and, no doubt, Empire soldiers would be here soon looking for him. The world seemed to be centering around him and his actions – a burden so heavy he was not sure he could bear to carry it.

Make up your mind. One or the other…

The clock was ticking and he could not ask anyone else to do this for him. Sloan had been a risk he had taken by coming. One way or the other he had to choose and choose now. There was not a third path or an easy way out – not even a way to give the choice to Sloan.

He looked back and saw Roran stepping into Katrina's cell. His time was growing short and, so, desperate for some sort of solution, he lifted his hand and whispered, "Slytha." Sloan's manacles rattled as he went limp, falling into a profound sleep. As soon as he was sure the spell had taken hold, Eragon closed and locked the cell door again.

He knew why it was so hard for him to do it. Sloan was everything a person could despise in another and everything Eragon did not want to become. If Sloan could not change then could anyone who reached such a level? If he ever did, if he became a monster like him, then would it also be death he faced? Would someone stand before him and pass judgment just as he was forced to do with Sloan?

_How is this helping anything? _demanded Saphira of him.

_Wait until we are together again. _

_You don't have a plan. You are being an idiot. _

_Maybe I am creating one right now. _

_I am part of you, _she reminded him, _and I know exactly what you are thinking. You don't have a plan. You aren't even sure how to make one. _

_Give me a minute and I will come up with one. _

_You are acting like a blind fool, _she said flatly. _He deserves death. _

Eragon moved over to Katrina's cell and looked inside. His cousin was already with his beloved who, while looking distinctly worse for wear, had never looked happier than she did right then. Her eyes were like lamps, shining with such wonder and tender love that she was fairer then any elf to Eragon's eyes. The two were embracing so tightly that Eragon wondered how they were ever going to untangle themselves. He had never seen such open affection and that it was between Katrina and his cousin was both strangely embarrassing and touching.

Murmuring in the Ancient Language he murmured a spell under his breath and the manacles slid off Katrina's wrists and ankles. Neither Katrina nor Roran seemed to notice until Roran gently helped her up. Katrina was unsteady upon her feet, but the injuries that Eragon saw were all things that time and rest would repair. Had he had more energy to spare he might have healed them then and there, but he sensed that would do nothing to soothe Katrina's snapped nerves even if he had the extra power. Magic was not something she might remember with any fondness and she had a villager of Carvahall's suspicious attitude towards it and its users.

"It is you," murmured the young woman as she gazed up into Roran's face. The young man was looking down at her with a mix of tender love and pain as he took in the state of her.

"Of course," he said gently. "I had to come back for you."

It was only then, as Katrina stepped forward, that her gaze shifted from Roran to him.

Her reaction was one Eragon was all too familiar with from previous meetings between him and the other villagers. Her eyes went wide and she studied him with puzzlement and open wonder. For even bloodied from the fight and changed by the dragons, he still bore faint traces of the boy he had once been.

"It is good to see you again Katrina," he said with a warm smile. Stepping forward he gently lifted her dirty, bloody hand and kissed it gently as if they were a Lord and Lady meeting at a ball. The effort at manners both distracting her a little from studying him too long and making her feel, he hoped, a little more like herself – like someone deserving of courtesy.

"Eragon?" she asked with wide eyes. "Is that really you?"

"Yes," he said and then, with growing urgency, he turned to Roran. "We must hurry, cousin. Saphira awaits us."

"Saphira?" asked Katrina as she clung tightly to her love.

"Eragon is a Rider," explained Roran, "and Saphira is his dragon."

The revelation was clearly too much for the emotionally and physically worn Katrina who just nodded tiredly. Before anything more could be said, Eragon stepped forward and gently rested his hands on Katrina's thin shoulders. She flinched at his touch and Eragon felt a pang of sadness, once, long ago, she would not have flinched and she would not look at him with such clear awe.

Gently, in his softest voice, he explained, "I have to make sure that you are enchanted with any traps or have been forced you to swear things and can't remember it. It won't take long at all nor will it hurt."

"Not now!" snapped Roran and, in the past, his cousin's clear anger at his words would have made him back down or change his mind or course of action. Not anymore – those days were long gone - and, now, Eragon had to assert his command as Rider, the command he had accepted and learned to bear.

"We do it now," said Eragon in the voice that demanded attention and results. His gaze was calm as he met Roran's furious scowl and forced his cousin to come to terms with the command. He had allowed his cousin the freedom to set the plan in motion, working quietly behind the scenes so that Roran could truly take the victory for himself. But now, with too many things at stake, he had neither the time nor the energy to continue his quiet handling. His cousin, scowling, backed down but Eragon knew that, somehow, he would have to make it up to him.

He was quick about his task. Looking into Katrina's eyes he put to use the training he had been given by Oromis for detecting the work of another spell caster. For a few long minutes he just stared into Katrina's glistening blue eyes and mouthed the phrases in the ancient language, searching for any signs that her memory had been tampered with.

Stepping back Eragon nodded, "It is finished." Roran who had been pacing anxiously stopped and smiled at his love. "You are free of any spells."

"Where is my father?" asked Katrina suddenly as Eragon stepped away and she was once more wrapped tightly in Roran's embrace. "He was alive."

Eragon was, for a brief moment, left floundering for an answer. What could he say? That her father was still alive and, through this, allows both his cousin and her to continue under Sloan's shadow? He wanted them free of Sloan – free to start a life away from the terrible controversy which had led Katrina to this place.

"He is dead," said Eragon gently, "and we must go. Come."

"But," whispered Katrina and her eyes shimmered with tears, "I never…" She looked back at the rows of cells and she looked ready to go back, search them, for the father she still cared for.

Eragon had a soldier's pity for her and for his cousin right then. "Come," he said with every ounce of command he could muster. They followed - barely aware of anything but each other – while Eragon took the lead as they hurried back through the jumble of tunnels toward the cavern where they had landed. The weyr light bounced along above them and Katrina, too weak from her long imprisonment, was half-carried by Roran. As they hurried through the passages, he heard Roran and Katrina exchanging a few brief words and phrases.

"I didn't think..." whispered Roran. "The others are safe…"

"You never think," Katrina interrupted. "I love you…"

"You acted," Eragon said from the front. "That was enough."

He wondered at the trust and open affection they showed for each other. Was that something he could have with Arya? The idea was strange and made his heart lurch slightly. All he really knew of love these past few weeks had been Roran's fierce devotion and the quiet, still growing love between Zoe and Murtagh. Those two were not nearly so open, but then they both had duties and a war to think of – just as he and Arya did.

_Stop thinking of love, _snapped Saphira in his mind. _We don't have long. _

When they were about ten yards from the main cavern and could just begin to see by the faint glow ahead of them, Eragon extinguished the werelight. A few feet later, Katrina slowed, then pressed herself against the side of the tunnel and covered her face. "I can't. It's too bright; my eyes hurt."

Roran quickly moved in front of her, casting her in his shadow. His cousin's face was full of tender concern as he tried to soothe the love of his heart. "When was the last time you were outside?"

"I don't know. . . ." A hint of panic crept into her voice. "I don't know! Not since they brought me here." She began to cry – her tears the first true reaction she had shown towards her long, cruel captivity.

Eragon felt his impatience growing as he glanced forward. He did not want to be stuck here while Katrina let go of her tears and Roran held her. Part of him was glad she was waking up enough to show such emotion, but another part - the warrior part – had no wish to linger. When they were safely gone from this place then she would have the time, and Roran, to come to terms with all of it. He hated how he was about to treat her and part of him was worried about Roran's reaction, but he didn't let himself think on it too hard. Experience and Zoe had taught him that, sometimes, one had to set aside what others might think even if those people were your family, and do what needed to be done. He would make it up later.

He seemed to have to make up many things later.

Ignoring the soft reassurances that Roran was whispering in her hair or the gleaming tears that streaked down the young woman's face, Eragon stepped in front of Katrina and said very firmly. "Katrina I need you be strong right now. So you will close your eyes and open them slowly so that your eyes can adjust. You are not going blind."

Roran was looking at him with clear disapproval. His eyes speaking the words: why are you being so hard? But Eragon ignored it as they advanced once more into the sunny, blood-spattered main cavern—which stank worse than before, owing to the noxious fumes that drifted from the body of the Lethrblaka—even as Saphira appeared from within the depths of the lancet opening opposite them. Seeing her, Katrina gasped and clung to Roran, digging her fingers into his arms.

Unable to keep the smile from his face at the sight of the blue dragon, Eragon turned to Katrina and said, "Let me introduce you to Saphira. I am her Rider."

_And it is an honor like no other, _he added through their bond.

_What are you planning to be spilling such compliments? _She demanded even as Katrina managed to drop a weak imitation of a respectful curtsey.

_I do have a plan, _he responded. _Have you found anything? _

_I searched the Lethrblaka's nest, but all I_ _found was bones, bones, and more bones, including several that smelled of fresh meat. The Ra'zac_ _must have eaten the slaves last night_.

_I wish we could have rescued them. _

_I know, but we cannot protect everyone in this war. _

_Too true. _

Gesturing at Saphira, Eragon said, "Go on; climb onto her. I'll join you in a moment." Katrina hesitated, and then glanced at Roran, who nodded and murmured, "It's all right. Saphira brought us here."

Together, the couple skirted the corpse of the Lethrblaka as they went over to Saphira, who crouched flat upon her belly so that they could mount her. Cupping his hands to form a step, Roran lifted Katrina high enough to pull herself over the upper part of Saphira's left foreleg. From there Katrina clambered the looped leg straps of the saddle, as if a ladder, until she sat perched upon the crest of Saphira's shoulders. Like a mountain goat leaping from one ledge to another, Roran duplicated her ascent.

Crossing the cave after them, Eragon examined Saphira, assessing the severity of her various scrapes, gashes, tears, bruises, and stab wounds. To do so, he relied upon what she herself felt, in addition to what he could see.

_For goodness' sake, _said Saphira, _save your attentions until we have made camp. I'm really beginning to wonder about what you are planning. _

_That is unwise, and you know it. You're bleeding inside. Unless I stop it now, you may_ _suffer complications I can't heal, and then we'll never get back to the Varden. Don't argue; you_ _can't change my mind, and I won't take a minute. _

_I know why you are doing this. _

_So? _

_You know what I think. _

_Of course I know, _he replied, _we are bonded. _

As it turned out, Eragon required several minutes to restore Saphira to her former health. Her injuries were severe enough that in order to complete his spells, he had to empty the belt of Beloth the Wise of energy and, after that, draw upon Saphira's own vast reserves of strength. Whenever he shifted from a larger wound to a smaller one, she protested that he was being foolish and would he please leave off, but he ignored her complaints, much to her growing displeasure.

Afterward, Eragon slumped, tired from the magic and the fighting. Flicking a finger toward the places where the Lethrblaka had skewered her with their beaks, he said, _You should have Arya or another elf_ _inspect my handiwork on those. I did my best, but I may have missed something_.

_I appreciate your concern for my welfare, _she replied, _but this is hardly the place for softhearted_ _demonstrations. _

_You know what I am going to do, _said Eragon as he gazed up into her deep, far seeing eyes. _We are too close for you not to know of my plan. _

_Yes, _she said sadly and he felt her distress even though she kept in check for his sake. It tore at his heart. _And I agree with the plan even though it goes against every instinct inside of me. _.

"Come on!" called Roran. "Hurry up!"

_You will explain to the others?_

_Zoe will already know, _said the dragon softly. _She warned me and gave me hope that, while I hate this separation, it will end well if you keep your wits about you. She will help me reassure them, but only your safe return can completely assuage their justified fears. _

_I shall come back and I will travel so fleetly that I will not be far behind you; _he made the promise in the Ancient Language. _Never fear that. _

_It tears at my heart. _

_It does the same to me, _and for a brief moment they allowed themselves to completely join together. It was the best goodbye they could have asked for, and the promise of return was a small comfort. They both knew why this had to be done – if only for Eragon's sake - and, while they hated it, neither made this parting more difficult than it already was.

"Eragon!" snapped Roran from above him, breaking the silent, deep moment between dragon and Rider.

"Listen!" shouted Eragon. "Think what might be in Helgrind: scrolls, potions, information about the Empire's activities—things that can help us! The Ra'zac may even have eggs of theirs stored here. If they do, I have to destroy them before Galbatorix can claim them for his own."

"How will you get out of the Empire?" demanded Roran. His cousin looked ready to dismount and lift the Rider up with him.

"I'll run."

_After I deal with Sloan and after I regain enough energy to run safely and at the needed speed. Oh Roran, you really have no idea everything I am about to do and it is better you don't, better that nothing of what really lurks in this mountain reaches you and the woman you love ever again. But still, in the end you really do not know anything of what is being played at in this game. One day I might just have to tell you. _

From his place on her saddle, Roran said, "Eragon, come on! Don't be daft. You're too important to risk—"

Rider and dragon exchanged one deeper, understanding look. They knew each other so well - words were useless to a pair who needed only one look to convey so much that no single sentence could ever hope to capture.

Then, a combination of noise and motion obscured the rest of his sentence as Saphira launched herself out of the cave. In the clear sky beyond, her scales sparkled like a multitude of brilliant blue diamonds. She was, Eragon thought, magnificent: proud, noble, and more beautiful than any other living creature. No stag or lion could compete with the majesty of a dragon in flight. His dragon…his partner unto death separated them.

She said, _A week: that is how long I_ _shall wait. Then I shall return for you, Eragon, and I will bring Zoe and Arya with me. _

_I shall be there in two days, _he told her, _three at the most. _

_I love you, little one. _

_And I love you even more Saphira Brightscales and Flametongue! _

Eragon stood there until she dwindled from sight and he could no longer touch her mind. Then, his heart heavy as lead, he squared his shoulders and turned away from the sun and all things bright and living and once more descended into the tunnels of shadow.

He didn't have long.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thank you to those who reviewedfavorite/followed and read this story! _**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Skoilr: Yes well I can't just give my readers the cookies right away! Suspense helps make the final moment just that much better! Glad you enjoyed the Roran POV! Hope you enjoy this chapter and hope your own story is going 'awesome!' _**

**_live laugh play music: Thanks! I thought the Roran POV was a good idea :) so I am glad that other people liked it to! Happy reading to you!_**

**_General TheDyingTitan: I looked back and realized their wasn't a line break to show the change - sorry about that! From what I read there is only two Ra'zac or at least only two in the original fight scene in the book. Thank you for the review!_**

**_Ray: I am glad you liked my other story! That one is a pile of fun to write when I actually find time for it! I think you are right about the 'drottingu' but my Ancient Language is about zero. Thank you for pointing it out and I will keep it in mind - its those little details that make such a difference! Hope you like this chapter and thank you for the review and support!_**

**_Nimtheriel: Glad you liked the Roran! I am glad now that I braved it and wrote the dratted thing. It was soooo hard...anyhow you got more Z/M in this chapter :) and Thorn will be soon - I PROMISE! _**

**_Islingr90: I am aware of that but I just couldn't resist the scene with Orrin and Zoe. She will have to balance the two sides - the public and the very real concern of staying undetected. I do think that, in a large army, there are many captains and people who help organize. Still deserving of respect but also easy to overlook because there are so many other people all doing the same thing. I am not sure about the Saphira/Thorn...I really like the idea of sticking to canon with that one but this story writes itself to some extent and I think it might be the same for that love pairing. Thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter! _**


	67. Chapter 68

It was one of those moments in one's life where one looks back and sees all the things one did, examines it all again and again, and _still_ comes up with the same answer. It can be a most annoying exercise and one that can try the patience of even the most even tempered. For Eragon the situation he found himself in and his solution to Sloan was one of those moments. Years later it would become a topic of moral debate for those who enjoyed such kind of win-lose or lose-win or whatever-it-was kind of topics.

Later on Eragon would see the mistakes he had made – the things that would have gone easier if he had taken just a few more seconds to think on them. There were also some things he never told Brom about such as his near overuse of power while escaping the mountain and a few other incidents that happened along the way. Some things he only told Saphira such as the bruise that Sloan gave him as he ran with the man slung across his shoulder or the wrenching pain in his heart that not having her by his side caused.

But, at the time, all Eragon could think was two steps ahead not all the way to the end. He was weary; sore both physically and from the loss of Saphira's presence. There was part of him that just wanted to kill the man and be done with it, but another part that protested loudly whenever he thought too hard on it. The internal debate he was waging between the two sides was giving him a pounding head ache and the sight of a small group of soldiers leaving the city, Dras'Leona, did nothing to make him feel any better.

He had gotten Sloan out of the cell – still lost in his enchanted sleep – and made it out of Helgrind. On his way out of the hollowed out spire of rock, he would often lower the man to floor so that he could explore a chamber or byway. His explorations leading him to discover many evil instruments, including four metal flasks of Seithr oil, which he promptly destroyed so that no one else could use the flesh-eating acid to further their malicious plans.

And then he had lowered himself and Sloan with magic to the ground. The effort of that spell had been quite draining and he had nearly crashed them into the side of the mountain a few times. Accustomed as he was to flying with Saphira, the sight of nothing but thin air underneath his feet still caused him unease. At least with Saphira he was not relying on his own magic to hold him up and, at least with her, he had the comfort of her large blue body between him and the ground.

He made it to the bottom, took note of a cloud of dust and flashing metal which told him Empire soldiers were on their way, and then began his run. The entire effort of propelling both his own body and Sloan down the mountain had nearly killed him and, had it not been for a large desert bush within easy reach, he might have not had the strength to resist the black oblivion of death.

Definitely something Brom didn't need to know.

It had taken more than the one shrub to regain enough vitality to continue and the sour taste of the destruction he had wrought stayed with him even as he turned east and began his run away from Helgrind and the soldiers who had finally arrived at the base of the stone.

Through the rest of the day he had picked up a steady, effortless stride that he could maintain for many hours. Above him, the sun gleamed gold and white. Before him, trackless wilderness extended for many leagues before lapping against the outbuildings of some village. And in his heart, a new joy and hope flared as he put the leagues between him and the Empire.

As he ran through the open, wild land he had felt as if the world stretched out before him like a bright jewel he had never really looked at before. His own little inner world lost amid all the other universes where he, Eragon, was just a little spec. To the dome of the sky, so far and just a thin hazy blue line that beckoned him onwards.

He felt free.

Free of the Ra'zac as he ran onwards into the future. Free of his duty to his dead uncle, his cousin who, after this day, could no longer say that the Dragon Rider had not listened to him and come when he was asked for. He had long since lost his taste for revenge when it came to the foul black creatures, but now…Now he was free of their shadow and the dark tie that they had created between him and Carvahall.

With the freedom came relief. When he thought of his old home now he did not have to think of his oath to destroy the Ra'zac or the way he had left it because of them….he was just FREE. The wonder of the emotion made him feel lighter than he had in weeks. He had never before realized how heavy that oath had been or how it had niggled at him until now. Now, at long last, he could shake off the last vestiges of the confused, frightened and desperate boy he had been when the creatures had killed his uncle.

He could truly accept his new identity. The identity crafted by his own deeds, the training, the friendships, the wars, the people who had briefly touched his life and the knowledge of just who – just what – he was in this world. It was like the little things that had niggled him and made him feel uncomfortable, caught between two worlds, had finally settled into place.

The only thing he was not free of was the heavy weight of Sloan and, for all the joy he found in running or the relief to have his oaths to Roran and his old life fulfilled, the man was no small burden nor was the problem he posed. His heart may fly free with new energy and hope, but he was still weighed down, both literally and figuratively, by burdens that were not easy to carry.

But still the Rider had run on light feet. He was unwavering in his set course.

His heart could not stop from whispering as he ran onwards: _I am coming Saphira. At long last I am really coming with you. _

But, as the sky darkened and the first stars emerged, he could go no further and the time came to decide the fate of the man who, indirectly, had first set Eragon on the path out of Carvahall and led him, not only to this place, but all the other places and people. The Rider settled on the first relatively hidden camp sight he could find - a small hollow, not far from a deep pool of fresh water, and made a small fire. But, all the while, he could not stop looking at his charge that still slept, his fingers slowly opening and closing in response to some dream in his enchanted slumber.

A wind whistled across the empty land and, like candles being lit, stars were flickering into existence across the inky dome of the night sky. Eragon felt very alone out in that wild, untouched land. He felt like a small little dot with his even smaller fire and he longed for Saphira's warm presence to give him comfort.

He forced the thoughts away and the biting pain that came with any, even the smallest mention, of his partner of heart and mind. There were priorities he had to meet and, top of the list, was his need for food. Like any seasoned warrior, he traveled with a small pack of provisions no matter what his plans were or where he was going. The Rider had stuffed the small bag into the bottom of his quiver and now he was quite glad he had taken the extra time to prepare for any eventuality. He supposed that, in the end, he had always known that if Sloan was alive the answer was not as simple as killing the man.

Now he drew the bag out and drew out one of the fruit and nut bars that he had brought from Du Weldenvarden. The bar was a creation of the elves for when they had need of a food that did not go bad and could travel easily. It was surprisingly filling and the Rider attacked it with a voracious appetite. Battling the Ra'zac, the numerous spells he had been forced to use and, even worse, the long run from Helgrind had made him hungrier than he had been for a long, long time.

But, after another of the elves bars, the Rider found himself staring once more at Sloan who lay on the opposite side of the fire. Fruit and nut bars may satisfy him, but they would be far from anything the butcher would want to eat. Besides, Eragon was reluctant to use anymore of his meager supplies. Which meant that he would have to get the man some meat or, by Sloan's and any normal villager's standard, some 'real' food.

The idea was repulsive to Eragon, but necessary and he killed a rodent and placed it on the fire to cook with a mix of revulsion and grim purpose. He had gotten himself into this mess and this was one of the prices of his actions. Besides, it wasn't as if he was the one actually eating the meat…he just had to kill the creature, gut, skin and then cook them.

Throughout the entire process he could not stop from grimacing in revulsion and, occasionally, he would shoot the sleeping man a dark glare. Why? Why, part of him demanded, did Sloan have to be worth so much bloody trouble? Why couldn't he – a Rider – deliver justice to the man and be done with it?

But, because he could barely take his eyes away from the sleeping man, Eragon found himself studying Sloan like he had rarely done before. The butcher, while painfully thin and worn, still had some of his hard, lean muscles and his skin was now wrinkled and seemed, to the Rider, several sizes too big. His hands, however, were the most interesting part of the man. They were scarred from the many decades the butcher had spent wielding knives. The finger nails, once so meticulously kept, were now ragged and blackened with filth.

He needed to do _something _with the man.

And he needed to do it right now.

To let him just go was a risky plan. Unless…unless Eragon took him to the nearest village and found some kindly soul who would be willing to care for the man. There was usually someone, even in the smallest of villages, who would take pity on someone so obviously and deeply affected by the war sweeping across the land. Sloan, even without his eyes, would be of some use and he may very well thrive in this second chance. Besides, this was a remote part of the world and it was doubtful that any rumors of a pretty blonde girl married to a farmer in a distant mountain valley would reach Sloan's ears. If any rumor did, however, it would be about the cousin of the dragon Rider and, most likely, be about Roran's skill as a fighter or his connection to Eragon. If Katrina was mentioned, Eragon doubted it would with any great detail.

From the extensive maps he had looked over in Tronjhiem he remembered that there were a few small outposts in this wide expanse of land. Small little dots on the maps with names and, because the maps had come from trading merchants like Jeod, there had been carefully detailed roads to and from these little outposts.

Sloan might, just might, try to track Roran and Katrina down but how far could a blind, elderly man get? All the way to Palancar Valley? To make doubly sure that Sloan would not want to either seek out word of his daughter or his old home, Eragon could lessen the man's desire. Oromis had taught him how during those long afternoons spent increasing his understanding and, thereby, his power – even now, at this ebb of his strength, he could still enter Sloan's weak mind and, for lack of a better word, 'change' a few things.

This was the closest thing to a real plan the Rider had had for the last few hours and it came as something of a relief.

Yes, it was maybe not the kind of justice that some would serve out to the man. The deaths of innocents like Bryd, the watchman, because of Sloan's actions had seemed particularly cruel to Eragon, but Bryd's family would not know of Sloan's fate just as Katrina and Roran would not. Eragon would not be Sloan's executioner nor would he try to determine a punishment suitable for the man when he knew so little of what could be called fair justice. Already Sloan had paid both with his own eyes and, even more importantly, with his beloved daughte. Fate had a way of evening out the justice on its own and Eragon would have to trust to that.

Rising to his feet, Eragon walked over to Sloan whispered in the man's ear, "Vakna." With a jolt, Sloan woke, scrabbling at the ground with his sinewy, roughened hands. The remnants of his eyelids quivered as, by instinct, the butcher tried to lift them and look at his surroundings. Instead, he remained trapped in his own personal night.

Not giving the man any chance to wonder at the sudden change in his surroundings, Eragon thrust the cooked meat toward Sloan, who, although he could not see it, surely must have smelled the food. "This is for you."

"Where am I?" asked Sloan. With trembling hands, he began to explore the rocks and plants in front of him. He touched his torn wrists and ankles and appeared confused to discover that his fetters were gone. He ignored the food in his desperation for answers.

"The elves—and also the Riders in days gone by—called this place Mírnathor. The dwarves refer to it as Werghadn, and humans as the Gray Heath. If that does not answer your question, then perhaps it will if I say we are a number of leagues southeast of Helgrind, where you were imprisoned."

Sloan mouthed the word _Helgrind_ . "You rescued me?" He seemed desperate to know he was truly out of his prison.

"I did."

_Despite the fact that it will land me in a great deal of trouble with my father, my brother, my best friends and my commander. So, yes Sloan, I did rescue you and it is far more than you deserve. _

"What about—"

"Leave your questions. Eat this first."

He adopted a harsher tone and the effect was immediate. The man cringed and reached with fumbling fingers for cooked meat. Releasing it with no small sense of relief, Eragon retreated to his place next to the rock oven and scooped handfuls of dirt onto the coals, blotting out the glow so that it would not betray their presence in the unlikely event that anyone else was in the vicinity.

After an initial, tentative lick to determine what it was Eragon had given him, Sloan dug his teeth into the meat and ripped a thick gobbet from the carcass. With each bite, he crammed as much flesh into his mouth as he could and only chewed once or twice before swallowing and repeating the process. He stripped each bone clean with the efficiency of a man who possessed an intimate understanding of how animals were constructed and what was the quickest way to disassemble them. The bones he dropped into a neat pile on his left. As the final morsel of meat vanished down Sloan's gullet, Eragon let out a shuddering breath. He had found the sight of Sloan eating gag inducing.

The man let out a long, satisfied sigh as he straightened his back, drew his hand across his lips, tucked his long hair behind his ears, and said, "Thank you, strange sir, for your hospitality. It has been so long since I had a proper meal, I think I prize your food even above my own freedom…If I may ask, do you know of my daughter, Katrina, and what has happened to her? She was imprisoned with me in Helgrind." His voice contained a complex mixture of emotions: respect, fear, and submission in the presence of an unknown authority; hope and trepidation as to his daughter's fate; and determination as unyielding as the mountains of the Spine.

"I know nothing of your daughter," said Eragon gently. "You were the only one I found in Helgrind."

Sloan let out a long, sad sigh and his mouth was pressed in a thin line as if he was trying to contain his flood of emotions. His hands, clasped tightly in his lap, were trembling with the effort the man was exerting to keep himself together.

The Rider continued, "I cannot take you with me very far. But there is a village not too far from this place and, perhaps, someone there would take you."

"But this is not my home," said the butcher and his voice was raw with pain, "and I do not want to live in this cruel world that has taken all I have."

_And you had no hand in that? You betrayed all you knew, Sloan, and it is your fault that the world is so bleak to you. You betrayed me and now, because you cannot see my face, you treat me like a great Lord and not the orphan boy you used to scorn. _

"I did not save your life for you to say you want to end it," snapped Eragon and his voice lowered dangerously even as he struggled to resist the urge to point out what was so obvious to him about Sloan's actions and the results they had caused. But he didn't. What was the point? He just said coldly, "My path is not one you can accompany me on."

"So you will take me to a village?" asked Sloan and his voice shook only slightly. "Who would have me? I am old and blind, of no use as a butcher like I once was."

"Then you shall have to find another past time," said Eragon. "Your hands still have skill from handling knives and there are always children to mind. This is a land at war and I am needed elsewhere."

"You are a rebel?"

"Yes," said Eragon with a small chuckle, "I suppose that is what you and many others would call me. But I prefer to think of it as a freedom fighter. "

The Rider was slightly surprised. Was he actually trading words – polite ones – between him and a man he had once barely been able to sit in the same room with? Sloan had tormented him with gibes, insulted both him and his family and then, in a final act, had betrayed all those he had been connected with. It was time to end this and send Sloan on his way. The dark landscape around them seemed immense beyond reckoning to Eragon, and he felt as if the entire hidden expanse was converging upon really was time to end this before Eragon found himself treading any more unstable moral ground.

Stretching out his mind, Eragon slipped into Sloan's open consciousness with delicate ease. Navigating through the man's mind was an almost enlightening experience. As he slid through memories he found himself coming to understand the man even as he tampered with Sloan's emotions not only towards his daughter but his old home. There was the butcher's overriding love for Katrina—obsessive, selfish, and generally unhealthy as it was, although it had once been something wholesome—his hate and fear of the Spine, which were the offspring of his grief for his late wife, Ismira, who had fallen to her death among those cloud-rending peaks; his estrangement from the remaining branches of his family; his pride in his work.

Through this tangled web of Sloan's past, he did what he could to make sure that Sloan would never again want to return to Palancar Valley even if he was offered the chance. He forced Sloan to see his old home not only as a treasure trove of painful, brutal memories, but a place he had never liked anyways. He gave Sloan a new reason for his imprisonment at the hands of the Empire that, when he gave it to someone, would not make them instantly think him an escaped convict.

It didn't take long. He was quick about his work after all the practice he had with Oromis.

When he finished, Eragon withdrew from Sloan's mind and said, "Slytha."

The man, just like he had in the cell, crumpled to the ground in an enchanted sleep. But Eragon still had a little more magic casting to do. Chanting swiftly in the Ancient Language, he laid a compulsion upon Sloan to travel south a few miles until he reached the nearest village that was conveniently placed beside one of the few small rivers that cut through this land. Deepening the spell he gave Sloan a kind of glamour or kind of air that would, hopefully, increase the chance of some kindly soul take pity on him and protect him from unprovoked attacks. At last, he created his final enchantment so that Sloan would wake at dawn and be on his way. The spells fed on Sloan's own energy supplies and Eragon was confident that they were small enough not to weaken the man to the point of death.

He had done all he could and the rest was up to Sloan and fate. Eragon wanted nothing more to do with Sloan and nothing more to do with that dark chapter in his life when the Ra'zac had swept away not only his old home, but his identity. He had struggled, forged a new one and become a wiser person because of it, but he was glad it was over - glad that he no longer had that tie.

At long last, as midnight approached, Eragon was able to lay himself out on the ground. He used his quiver as a sort of pillow and, as he closed his eyes, he mumbled a spell that would rouse him before dawn. With not a little relief, he allowed himself to drift into the soothing embrace of his waking rest.

* * *

><p>There are duties one has an ambassador that make it a rather annoying job. Standing before a scrying mirror in Arya Drottning's tent, preparing to speak to the Queen of Du Weldenvarden, when you are tired and feeling overwhelmed by all the things you still have to do, can all make one wish they did not have such responsibilities.<p>

But I did. Not you, dear reader, but me. The one and only. Your guide to this charming, violent world and, of course, your friend and, should you ever have need of me, your ever willing ally.

You see, reader, I am the ambassador and I would never dream of ignoring my duties just because I was tired or part of me was thinking of a certain conversation with Murtagh that made my heart feel rather bruised. Instead I forced myself to dress in a clean tunic and to pull my hair back into regulation neatness. During the preparation for the meeting I had nursed a cup of Angela's delicious, but who-knows-what-it-was-made-of tea. It had given me something akin to a caffeine kick and, for a little while at least, I felt clear eyed and ready enough to meet the energy demands this meeting would take. Arya had done the same (minus the tea) – both of us aware of the importance of appearances. We were both seated, neat piles of scrolls stacked around us, a few open missives that would need to be read to the Queen from Orrin and Nasuada and our weapons within easy reach.

We looked cool, calm and prepared. Oh how I wanted to go to bed!

Arya preformed the spell with efficient ease and the mirror shimmered as an image bloomed across its reflective surface to show the inside of a commanders tent. A table with neatly stacked bits of paper and scrolls was at one end and, seated in two of the chairs, was Islanzardi and Lord Daethdr. No matter if the command tent is mortal or elvish there are certain similarities - it serves both as a staging ground and a store room for all those various, important documents that need signatures or reviewing. The two elves, one a Queen and the other an advisor, were clearly in the midst of some sort of meeting, but they stopped the second they felt the weight of our eyes.

"Daughter," said the Queen rising from her chair, clearly relieved to see Arya once more. She was dressed in fine armor that had clearly just been tested by the heat of battle or at least some sort of combat. So the elves had begun to fight and finally engage the Empire. The Queen's dark hair was braided back and her crown was abandoned on the table, not that she really needed such ornamentation to make one immediately recognize that she was royalty. She carried herself with such grace, power and obvious authority. A blood red cape was cast over a chair and the Queen's naked sword was lying on the table, the hilt within easy reach. "Lady Zoe," she said with a brief nod to me. I inclined my head and spoke the formal greeting in the Ancient Language.

Lord Daethdr added his own, more formal greetings before making his excuses and retiring. The blasted elf clearly wanted to leave Arya and me to deal with the Queen while he went out and did whatever he had to do. Maybe it was because I was tired, but Daethdr's leaving hit a bit of a nerve.

"Has the fighting begun?" asked Arya as she took in the two elves bloody armor and the unsheathed sword.

"A small skirmish," said the Queen, "we are still massing along the western edge of Du Weldenvarden. For now we will prepare to kill and be killed while we are close to the trees we love so much." Her gaze fell on me and I remembered the meetings I had been a part of during my time in Du Weldenvarden when these plans were hammered out. None of these things were new to me and it was not as if she was asking for my opinion or her daughters. Continuing, the Queen directed her next words to me, "We are a scattered race and do not march in rank and file like others do—on account of the damage it inflicts upon the land—and so it takes time for us to assemble from the distant reaches of the forest."

"I am glad," I said with polite ease, "that we are able to speak with you again, your majesty." Now that the elves were out of the wards that prevented anyone from scrying the forest, we were finally able to contact them in this manner instead of by contacting a runner who then sent the message on to the Queen. It was a lengthy process.

"I am certain that both of you," said the Queen, "have much to tell me." Her deep, guarded eyes were fixed on her daughter.

Arya gave her report to her mother. The elf princess's report was succinct and contained very little new information that the Queen had not already heard since the last time Arya had contacted her right after the Battle of the Burning Plains. It was a quick summary of the Varden's movements and the departure of the dwarves for their mountains.

"Eragon and Saphira have not yet returned?" asked the Queen with a faint, dark frown.

"No," said Arya, "but we expect them back any day."

Before the Queen could launch into another one of her irritated tirades on how irresponsible Eragon was being by going with Roran, I gently suggested I read the official message from Nasuada on the Varden's next move. After listening to the missive, the Queen gave us her reply which contained both the elves next move and their estimated timing.

With my official business done, I left the Queen to speak privately with her daughter. I emerged from the tent back and looked up at the sparkling night sky as I breathed a small sigh of relief to have my ambassador duties back. Murtagh was waiting for me and, the second the flap fell back into place, he wrapped his arms around me and drew me into the shadow of his own tent that was directly across from Arya's. We had all been grouped together with Eragon, my own, Brom's larger one and Arya all within a few feet of each other.

"How was it?" he asked gently.

"Fine," I said with a shrug. "She is still sore over Eragon."

"She has every right to be," replied Murtagh. "And she isn't the only one."

I sighed and leaned my head against his chest. His arms were tight around me, secure and comforting as I allowed myself to relax for the first time that day. I would miss this embrace, but I couldn't and wouldn't think of that now, reader. "She informed me that the spell casters for Eragon are one their way."

"Ah," said Murtagh, "and I have received some rather disturbing intelligence from an operative in Gil'ead."

I raised my eyes to meet Murtagh's gaze. "What kind of intelligence?"

"I'm not sure what to make of it," he said. "I left it with Brom to mull over and will tell Nasuada early tomorrow morning. It was something about warriors and magic and to be ready for anything – absolutely anything. They are a rather inexperienced agent who hasn't yet mastered the code."

"Lucky for your spies then," I murmured softly. "Even if they could use some more experience." It was true. Murtagh's ever growing network of intelligence gatherers had not only made it easier to plan our next move but anticipate strikes before they occurred.

"Come on," said Murtagh, "you haven't eaten anything and you look dead on your feet."

"One look," I quipped tiredly, "from the Queen of Du Weldenvarden has that effect."

The clock, my reader, is ticking. Even in those brief moments of quiet conversation between Murtagh and I, part of me was always aware of it. Tomorrow, I think, will be the best time for what I know must be done. Nasuada will be occupied with the tribe and her brutal Trial of will power, while Arya will be free enough to be present for the momentous occasion before running off after Eragon. The elvish spell casters already on their way would also be here soon and provide another welcome layer of protection. When Eragon did return it would be to once more take flight with Saphira and, with any luck, they would also have two more passengers.

You agree? My plan is a good one?

I am glad. I hope you are right and this does not blow up in my face like a bomb I forgot to turn off. Then tomorrow will be soon enough for changing the course of history. Tomorrow when my mind is clear of weariness and my heat less troubled, we can both see if the gamble I took by bringing the red dragon egg here was actually worth it.

I hope it is. I hope for Murtagh that it is and because, in the end, I really don't have a chance in hell of knowing if I made the right choice until it is all behind me. Until the entire tapestry that has been woven in stretched out and we can see, at long last, if all the sacrifices and choices were made either in vain or because they were just destined for success.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean?" asked the man in a dangerously low voice. "Do you mean to say you failed? Or that you succeeded?"<p>

The pale faced, wide eyed, but struggling for calm, magician managed to stutter out, "Well…no, but if we could just…" His hands were clasped before him, his knuckles white with the effort of keeping them from shaking too hard.

The other man, who was standing looking out a window in his large, dark study, did not bother looking around. His clothes were of fine make and cut, simple but elegant. A sword, pale white like a bleached bone, rested on the polished wood desk. "So you failed," he said coldly and in the same low bur that was so much more dangerous sounding than any battle cry. It was a beautiful voice when the man wanted it to be – it could be poisonous in its honeyed tones or soothing like a summer breeze. He loved to hear his own voice, he knew how beautiful and mesmerizing it could be. Almost like a snake charmer before a cobra and he had always been the charmer, the one with the dangerous power.

The magician had the sense to say nothing. He bent his head as he waited for the King's verdict. Many others had stood in this position before and none, he knew all too well, ever walked back out that study door either in one piece or alive. Part of him absently wondered if the red flowers on the finely woven carpet were red from the blood of those who had died in this room. Would his blood color another of the woven flowers red?

"Why did you fail?" asked the King suddenly. For King he was and the crown upon his head only made it that much more apparent.

For a second the magician stumbled around for a reply. Then, gathering what remained of his shredded confidence, he managed to say, "Someone was able to end the spell by circumventing our wards and the guard set on the trunk."

The King said nothing for a long moment. "What happened to this person?"

"We believe that returned to the Varden," said the magician haltingly. "We do not know anything about them."

Galbatorix spun on one booted heel to face the cowering, shivering excuse for a magician who had been in charge of the King's plan to capture the sapphire Rider and dragon. He was not a man used to giving second chances, but he was sick of finding replacements for the position of head spell caster in his court. Let this failure serve as a warning to the man.

"Go," snapped the King, "and find me my answers. I want to know where that trunk is and who closed it. Come back when you know." The magician wasted no more time. He was gone in a brief few seconds and the door was closed hurriedly behind him. It was not slammed, the fool knew better then to let that happen, but closed carefully and as softly as possible.

The King turned back to the window that provided a wide view of the Empire's capitol city. He was growing sick of the foolish little enchanters that he had to work with. They made too many mistakes, groveled to try and earn favor and, in general, failed do anything right. What Galbatorix wanted was a Rider. He wanted another Morzan and he had nearly had one in Murtagh, but the dratted boy had run off and no news about either his location or if he was still alive, had reached the King.

The King tapped a finger on the window sill. How he would like to know who is opponent was…there was someone else besides the brave woman, Nasuada, and the infuriatingly difficult to kill Brom. Someone more, someone of unique power and perception, was acting behind the scenes and meeting the King at every turn.

The same person who had stolen the red egg? He wondered and he wished he knew. The few spies planted in the Varden told him of a young woman who acted a sort of counselor for Nasuada, but the King had discarded her. She was young and, according to his scattered sources, not gifted with any magic. No. That was not the one. No power, no experience and, most likely, just some sort of companion for Nasuada who had been lifted to a commanding position for some silly, nonsensical reason.

There were a few others, but he had quickly dismissed them all. The only one of sufficient power and skill was the elf ambassador who Durza had failed to get anything useful out of. But, then again, the King felt it was not the elf's touch behind these maneuvers.

Leaving the window the King walked to the door. Good things came to those who waited…and he would wait. He would let all his weapons settle into place, wait for the right moment and then…and then he would act.

He was, after all, the King.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Hello! I have a few things I want to mention: <em>**

**_First: I have been doing some revisions. Nothing major or anything, but I feel that some of my earlier chapters that I wrote a year or more ago don't reflect the growth and change in my style. So far only chapters 19, 20 and 21 have been changed but, if you want, go take a peak at them and tell me what you think! I am planning on slowly going through and make revisions - mostly just adding depth or conversations, maybe doing a bit of foreshadowing ect. but, if you don't want to read them again, you really won't miss out on anything. _**

**_Second: Thorn. Well Zoe gave you when Thorn will be appearing and I promise it will be next chapter. Sorry :( but you'll have to keep the faith. _**

**_Third: Cover art! I actually managed to settle on an image after going through I don't know how many of sunsets, sunrises, crowns, stars, movie stars, swords, doors, castles and on and on and on. Hope everyone likes it! I am glad I finally found something to use. This image is from the movie 'King Arthur' and, while I have never watched it, I thought this Guinevere reminded me a little of Zoe. _**

**_Fourth: Happy Remembrance Day! Hope everyone has a lovely week and thank you for the comments, likes and reads!_**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Chosrunewiz: Nice to see you again :) glad you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you like this one!_**

**_WhiteLeaf12: Thank you! I am so glad you like this story and my own little fantasy about what could happen if a girl ended up in the Inheritance Cycle. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story and thank you for the review!_**

**_Ray: I don't plan to! Thank you! _**

**_Nimtheriel: It took a lot of quality time on google images lol but I did find one and I am so glad you like it! Hope you can live for the next chapter and Thorn! I am sorry I am pushing you to the limits but never fear! He will show up...eventually...lol no it will be next chapter! big thank you and happy reading!_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: awe I am glad you liked my fluffy little bit of romance! It was fun to write I must say ;) Z and M...is it me or does that sound either like a weird drink combo or a candy bar? Huh...well thank you! Hope you like this chapter!_**

**_live laugh play music: haha glad I kept you on your toes! I like that scene to :) It will be fun to write! Thank you for the review and hope you like this chapter!_**

**_General TheDyingTitan: yes...well I hope to pick up the pace in the next chapter. So thank you for the review and happy reading! :) have an awesome one!_**

**_Skoilr: Thank you! :) hope you like this chapter! :) happy writing and reading!_**


	68. Chapter 69

Murtagh left me at the entrance to my tent and vanished off to do something, but before I could enter my own little tent I glanced over towards Brom's. The elder man was sitting out in front of his tent whittling away at some piece of wood in his hands. It felt wrong to leave him sitting out there alone and, despite my weariness and the dull ache that my meeting with Islanzardi had left me with, I moved over and sat down beside the story teller. Everything was quiet around us and the starry night sky stretched out above the army camp.

My upbringing had made me sensitive to moods disguised by courtesy or by reserve; I knew my companion's heart was troubled and it was not hard to know why it was. His thoughts turned to the son who was far away and alone in dangerous land. The piece of wood in his hands was looking suspiciously like a dragon but it was not a dragon roaring or a dragon in flight. It was a dragon at a peace. I wondered, suddenly, if it was a carved memory of the first Saphira.

Quietly I asked, "If I sing, will it disturb your thoughts?"

He replied with an effort at joking, "That depends on the singing."

So, I sat with my back against the pole of the tent and sang as best I could. My voice was as high and sweet as when the music master of the Hall of Caer Daythl had trained it years ago, striking the harmonies on his tall harp. I sang the Lament for the White Enchanter, a song about a fallen enchanter who had stood for long years against evil, against the Shadow. It had been created by his love, Elfarn, when she heard of his death far away from her. It was not sung often or lightly. But my young voice, strong, sure, and sad between the red sky and the dark ground, and the tears came to the older man's eyes, sang it as if I was Elfarn and knew all her grief and all her wasted love. Her despair had been great and her pain as deep as the oceans that stretched to the horizon.

I was silent for a while after that song; then I began to sing lesser, lighter tunes, softly, beguiling the great monotony of windless air and failing light, as night came on in all its shadowy glory. But then I fell silent. There were many more songs, many thousands more, but I could not summon the voice or heart to sing them with the justice they deserved.

I was weary. I was weary and alone and afraid. The doom of everything seemed to hit me then, the wild unknown of my choices and my endless fears about them. The weight of my doomed love for Murtagh and the homesickness that was always there lurking behind a thin veil of shaky hope that everything would work out.

"You sang the first song," said Brom, "as if you knew all the grief it contained, and you made me know it too. You sang as if you knew all of great courage and despair and love."

"Perhaps I do," I murmured, "but that is not my favorite tale." The blue dark of night around us made me feel as if it was only Brom and I. Where had Murtagh gone? Where had everyone suddenly gone?

"What is?"

"The tale of Trreth," I said, "for he might have ruled all of Prydain, but chose not to, and went on alone and died alone, fighting on a nameless shore in a land far away."

We sat for a while, each of us following our own thoughts, and then Brom asked, "Why?"

"Because he could have had everything, but he chose the harder path. It saved Prydain, but it cost him everything. He saved my home, but the price was high...very high. He died alone and away from all he loved."

"Do you think you shall share his fate?" asked the man.

The question might have rattled me if I had not already thought long on my fate and, at that present moment, I able to think clearly with neither worry nor fear clouding my thoughts. I had long ago decided that the truth was always preferable even if the truth hurt and made you feel black with despair.

"Perhaps I shall die in this land," I replied. "I do not know."

"You know everything," said the man with a faint note of bitterness. But I sensed that the bitterness was not directed at me, but at the great scheme that had brought me here and with me dangerous, powerful knowledge that I had used – yes I had – and it had changed many things.

I sighed at his words for I felt no hurt at them. He had a right to feel as he did and I could not blame for how he was feeling right then. Brom, despite all things he might be, was also a father and I knew too many fathers who had sent their son off to never see them come off. Shaking my head I said, "Eragon will come back."

"To leave again," said Brom. "That is the fate of a father, I suppose. To watch their child leave and to hope that they will return," he sent me half-smile. "I am sure your parents must be worried sick over you."

"My parents are dead," I said without meeting his gaze for the words caused my eyes to water and I did not want the man to see the glimmer of my unshed tears. "But they would have known exactly how you felt after sending off two sons and a daughter in the dangerous unknown of battle. I know how you feel to some extent because I watched my brothers leave me behind to." I spread my hands out before me, gazing at them. They seemed small, weak to my eyes right then and it was hard to imagine that these hands could do anything useful. I guess they could. I guess they could hold a weapon and a pen and wrap a wound, but they didn't seem that way now.

"You never said," said the man and his voice lowered, the notes of the words hanging for a moment before fading.

I shrugged, "There hasn't been time and I don't like to linger on such dark memories when there is such darkness around me." I took out my little black rock, my little light, and watched the object sparkle and glow gently in the palm of my hand. "I have always sought the light because I always thought if I could find the light I could find the hope." Reaching out I took Brom's weathered, scarred hand and dropped the small stone into his palm. "Maybe you should do the same."

Brom turned the small stone over in his hand and gazed down at the faintly glowing stone I had placed in his hand. "What is it?" he asked. His eyes never left the stone, his face seeming to lose some of its worry and pain.

"My light," I said with a faint smile as I gazed down at the small stone. "I will see you tomorrow, Brom."

He went to give me the stone back as I rose from my seat beside him, but I shook my head. "I'll get it back tomorrow," I said with wave of my hand. "I don't need it right now."

_But you do. You need to remember there is always another storm brewing on the horizon, but there is no point worrying everything away until it actually gets here. I am sorry Brom. I am sorry that nothing you ever wanted quite ever worked out and I don't know how you have kept going. I am sorry about Eragon and about Selena, but this is all I can do for you. _

Those were my unspoken words and I know he read them in my eyes. My mask had faded and I wore my emotions and my thoughts on my sleeve. But Brom said nothing, he just nodded goodnight and I turned away. I left him to sit and look at the stars with my little stone shining out a faint light.

* * *

><p>Eragon ran.<p>

He ran like he had never run before.

Each one of his footfalls was rhythmic, but light upon the ground as he set his eyes on the horizon – towards the flight path taken by Saphira and back to the Varden. He had woken early, eaten a little and drunk before picking up his run. Sloan had left before the Rider had woken and Eragon had seen his trail - meandering but heading in the correct direction. The Rider hoped that Sloan would find some purpose – some sort of redemption after his acts against Carvahall and his own daughter.

As Eragon's boots descended, he heard brittle stalks of grass snap like twigs and glimpsed puffs of dirt rising from the cracked soil. He guessed it had been at least a month since it last rained in this part of Alagaësia. The dry air leached the moisture from his breath, leaving his throat raw. No matter how much he drank, he could not compensate for the amount of water the sun and the wind stole from him. His sword had been fastened to his quiver so it did not bounce against his hip and his distinctive ears had been hidden beneath a strip of fabric he had ripped from his undershirt.

Helgrind was far behind him. Also far behind him were Galbatorix's patrols—containing both soldiers and magicians—which swarmed across the land, and had forced him to hide for some of that morning in order to avoid them. They were searching for him, but they did not find him. Besides the brief rests helped him gather a little of the strength that he had spent this past week first in battle and then in travel and then, as if one wasn't enough, in another battle. The events of the past week had pushed him to the limits of his physical and emotional endurance.

But now he could run. He could really run because there was no living creature, except for the occasional snake, for miles and miles around him. And part of him loved it. It was the part that longed for a bit of time alone. These past months had been the definition of intense and, since Saphira hatched, he had never been truly alone. Always she had been there, her thoughts and emotions a constant. There had been his traveling companions and, as much as he loved Zoe, Brom and Murtagh, he had not realized how it felt to be alone for a while.

There was only him and the steady, soft pound of his feet upon the ground. In the rhythm of the exercise, in the wide blue sky and the desert landscape, he lost himself. He lost the warrior and the Rider; they were behind him for now. For these hours of running it was just him, whoever he was, out in this landscape that seemed barren but hid so much life.

It was sometime later, the hours passing uncounted, when he sensed the soldiers.

His mind, just extended enough to give him a little warning, sensed the feeling their consciousness a few miles away, but drawing closer. The sudden contact and rippling sense of fear that coursed through him made him immediately slow his pace and leave his silent, contemplative state which he had entered during his run. He realized that he had followed the road into a draw with high sides to it and a small stream which bubbled up from some underground source. Thick, leafy trees grew along the stream and it was in their shadows that Eragon hid. Undergrowth was scarce and he pressed himself as close as he could to the ground and hoped that he was hidden enough by the shadow and grass that grew in the moister grown beneath the welcome shade of the trees.

A pair of birds, startled by his entrance into their shaded grove alongside the thin stream, spiraled upwards with a few surprised cries. But the Rider ignored them and waited for the Empire soldiers he had felt to appear.

They did a few minutes later. A group of six soldiers mounted on chargers emerged from the other side of the ravine and rode down the track at a slow trot. They reined in their horses a few feet from where he was hiding and began to speak in loud, rough voices among themselves. All of them wore the distinctive mark of the Empire and they all seemed both weary of their fruitless hunting and too hot to care if the item of their search was anywhere near them.

Eragon struggled to remain in control of his breathing as he pressed himself flat against the ground. His heart was beating fast and hard in his chest as he examined the men and their ruddy cheeked, yellow bearded captain. For a brief minute the Rider wished he had his armor, but he had slipped it into Saphira's saddle bags without her noticing while he healed her various injuries. He hadn't needed it – or thought he would – but now it seemed his decision not to carry it was foolish. In a feather soft whisper, Eragon began to whisper a complex spell in the ancient language. The words rolled off his tongue in an unbroken stream as the magic rose within him and began to act.

He would take no chances.

The captain, his face as red as an overripe tomato said, "I don't know why they bother sending us off to do this job." As he spoke the man climbed down from his red bay charger and walked towards the cluster of trees that Eragon was hidden in. His armor was simple – a helmet, tapered shield, and a leather brigandine – all of which indicated that he was nothing more than a mounted footman. As for arms, he bore a spear in his right hand and a battered looking longsword on his left hip.

"Does anyone want me to refill their water skin?" asked the man. A few passed him their depleted water skin and the others urged their horses over to the thin, but clear, stream of water. The man was kneeling just a few feet away from the thicket that Eragon was hiding in. Once the water skins were full and the horses satisfied the group of men moved back to the road.

They would have seen the Rider had it not been for a little bit of magic. The thicket was not dense and Eragon was hardly dressed in clothes that would blend in. But they did not see him.

As the men returned to the road, a man said in a disgusted voice, "What does that bastard Braethan expect of us? We've hardly gotten a wink of sleep these past two days."

Another, his face older than the others and his bearing one of someone to who this situation was nothing new or unexpected, replied. "The King is desperate to find this person. . . . To be honest, I'd rather not find whoever it is we're searching for. It's not that I'm faint hearted, but anyone who gives Galbatorix pause is best avoided by the likes of us."

"I almost want to shake their hand," said the leader of the group. "It must take a great deal of work to become important enough you make the King of the Empire angry with you."

That resulted in some chuckles and nods before the soldiers turned their horses to the north and continued down the road at a good trot.

As the sound of the horses faded, Eragon ended the spell, then rubbed his eyes with his fists and rested his hands on his knees. A long, low laugh escaped him, and he shook his head, amused by how outlandish his predicament was compared with his upbringing in Palancar Valley. He almost wondered if he did ever see those men again if he would get the chance to tell them he was the person they wanted to shake hands with.

The spell he had used contained two parts: the first bent rays of light around his body so he appeared invisible, and the second hopefully prevented other spellweavers from detecting his use of magic. The spell's main drawbacks were that it could not conceal footprints—therefore one had to remain stone-still while using it—and it often failed to completely eliminate a person's shadow, but that it had succeeded made the Rider feel rather satisfied with himself. The men and their horses had been within a few feet from him and, had they reached out, they would have touched him or seen the faint impressions of his elvish boots in the softer soil around the stream.

Washing some of the dirt from his face and taking a few long, cool sips of the water, Eragon turned once more to the road. He still had a great deal more running to do and now he would be entering more populated country which would make things difficult. The Rider hoped he could find another, less traveled road but, if he could not, then he would take to the wilderness and run through it rather than risk confrontation and capture on the road.

But he was getting closer.

And as he ran he was remembering. He was remembering things like the flocks of starlings which had gathered together after winter. There was the sound of ice cracking as the sun began to warm it and the first green shoots of living things as the snow receded. He remembered Garrow telling him how to measure time by the movement of the sun and, like a vague foreshadowing of what was to come; he remembered listening with wide eyes to Brom's stories of Riders and dragons.

He had not known. How could he have? That a dragon egg would fall out of the sky and then hatch for him. As he ran alone and cut-off from all those that he knew, Eragon felt as if the weaving of his past had finally come together and he could see all of it even as he stepped into the next part of his life. Because, no matter how alone he might feel right then, his bond with Saphira was still with him. Each step that he took back to her made the weak flicker of it grow a little stronger and little brighter.

A tune that he had heard during one of their brief stops in a small village when it had just been him, Brom, Zoe and Saphira came to him suddenly. It had been sung by a young girl to her very small brother as she walked with him. The Rider had only heard a little of the song, forgotten it for a long time and, now, suddenly remembered it as he ran through the countryside. He didn't know how the girl had come upon the song, for what reason his mind had hung onto the words or why he decided to sing it, but he did. The words ran through his head and came up with their own soft tune:

_Here it comes, it's a light_  
><em>A beautiful light, over the horizon<em>  
><em>Into our eyes<em>  
><em>Oh, my my how beautiful<em>  
><em>Oh my my how beautiful,<em>  
><em>Sometimes it may seem dark<em>  
><em>But the absence of the light is a necessary part<em>  
><em>Just know, you're never alone<em>

_You can always come back_

_Every road is a slippery slope_  
><em>But there is always a hand that you can hold on to<em>  
><em>Looking deeper through the telescope<em>  
><em>You can see that your home's inside of you<em>

_Just know, that wherever you go, no you're never alone…***_

* * *

><p>Nasuada leaned back against her chair.<p>

She had rarely felt this weak in all of her life and, considering what she had done, it really wasn't surprising. The curly head of Angela the Herbalist was bent over the deep wounds that Nasuada had inflicted upon herself during the trial of Long Knives. While the wounds were gruesome and the practice cringe-worthy, Nasuada had seen no other way out of the trap that Fadawar, the leader of the nomadic tribes, had set for her. In the end the young woman had won only by the narrowest of margins.

She would have lost.

She knew it and it frightened her more than holding a knife above her own arm and making one cut after another ever would or, more importantly, had. It was because of Brom that she had found the strength to go on. The older man had secretly lent her a little of his strength when she had faltered and the Varden had nearly been handed over to Fadawar and his tribesmen. He had told that he believed in her. That he, with all his knowledge and experience, believed in her strength of will and her right to be the Varden's leader.

Fadawar and his tribesmen may be her father's people but…

Nasuada shook her head. Her thoughts were drifting as the pain slowly but surely settled into an energy sapping dull throb that made her head hurt and left a sour taste in her mouth. It was lucky that Angela and her werecat shadow were close at hand. The Herbalist had materialized almost immediately after the ceremony and was now able to stich, bathe and bandage the wounds with all the skill of one who knew exactly what she was doing.

Brom had left her with a brief, barely heard statement about needing to see Lady Zoe and Jormunder had also reluctantly departed after Angela insisted she be allowed to treat Nasuada without his hovering. Farica, her handmaiden, had also left on some errand or another though why…

Nasuada gasped as Angela yanked a bandage tightly around her arm and the sudden increase in pressure against her wounds sent a wave of pain all the way to shoulder. The lady of the Varden wanted to be sick and Jormunder's earlier words of _'the same as your father:always ignoring caution when it comes to your own safety' _rang through her head as well as Farica's '_you gave us quite a fright there.' _

"I'm almost done," said Angela. The Herbalist was looking at her with astute eyes that no doubt could see through any half-hearted façade of pretend wellbeing Nasuada could try to conjure.

"Orrin is furious with me," murmured Nasuada in an effort to distract herself from the pain and hold her rapidly fraying composure together. The Trial was over, but the recovery seemed far worse than the actual cutting. "I should not have said what I said to him, Angela."

After the ceremony had ended and Nasuada was declared the winner, Orrin had made his anger with her quite apparent. Drained of her usual quiet tact and graceful maneuvering that went into maintaining her friendly relations with the King of Surda, Nasuada had said some rather unfortunate – if terribly blunt – words and the King had been quite, and very rightly, annoyed with her. The lady could only hope that, at some point, she could mollify him and that he would understand the condition she had been in after the Trial.

The Trial of Long Knives was not just physically grueling, but mentally. Never, not even during battle or when she faced those she feared, had Nasuada ever had to exercise the discipline, determination and ruthlessness that she had utilized that day and it had to be directed at her own body not to any enemy she could feel hatred towards. Perhaps, part of her wondered, it was a good test of leadership in a brutal sort of way. She had learned something about herself and had realized, not for the first time, that the support of those around you was sometimes more central then you ever thought.

"Well," said the Herbalist practically, "mollifying the King of Surda can wait for another day." She neatly tied the white bandage and began to stir together some sort of herbal concoction that she would slather over the recently stitched cuts on Nasuada's other arm. "But before you do that, you need to go to bed. It's already almost evening and you have earned some rest." She continued under her breath with an irritated sort of frown on her face, "Normally, this is when the healer asks her patient how she is, and the patient lies through her teeth and says, 'Oh, not too bad,' and the healer says, 'Good, good. Be cheery and you'll make a fine recovery.' I think it's obvious, however, you're _not_ about to start running around and leading charges against the Empire. Far from it."

It was true, thought the lady as she looked around her command tent and ignored Angela's irritated tirade that Nasuada suspected she was not supposed to have heard. The sun's fading red rays were filtering in through the walls of the tent and another day was coming to the end. She knew that there had been some positives to her acceptance of the Trial – it had increased her standing in front of her men, earned the tribesmen's loyalty and further strengthened her command. However, Orrin would need pacifying and so would dear old Jormunder.

It was lucky that Angela was around. No magic could be used to heal the wounds and the Herbalist's skill with medicinal plants could not have come at a better time. It seemed that Nasuada was using up a great deal of luck these past few days.

"Barzûll," muttered Angela as she finished with Nasuada's other arm. "Only men would think of cutting themselves to determine who the pack leader is. Idiots!"

It hurt to laugh, but Nasuada could not help herself. "Indeed," she said after her fit subsided. But her amusement quickly faded and she wondered out loud and with a note of despair in her voice, "Why couldn't this be easier?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Nasuada saw Solembum jump onto the table and extend a large, shaggy paw, to snap a piece of bread off an uneaten plate of food and nibbled on the morsel, his white fangs flashing. The black tassels on his oversized ears quivered as he swiveled his ears from side to side, listening to metal-clad warriors walking past the red pavilion.

Angela stopped her mixing of some other herbal mixture and raised her clear, deep eyes to look at the lady sitting very still in the chair. "Nothing worth having is easy to gain," said the Herbalist. It was an old adage that the Lady of the Varden had heard too many times in the past few years.

"But this…" whispered Nasuada and she looked down at the tight white bandages around her arms. She had long ago sworn to whatever it took to keep the Varden alive and to secure the downfall of the King, but there were moments when the doubt crept in and the entire foundation on which she had built her life seemed suddenly shaky and all too willing to crumble into nothing.

"But this is one step," finished the Herbalist. "Your mood would not be so black if you hadn't had to confront those barbaric, power hungry, gold loving tribesmen who have the nerve to try and claim your leadership through some long-forgotten family relationship."

"You are ever practical," said Nasuada as she shifted slightly upon her high backed chair. "There is so much to do."

There were people to reassure – word of her trial would be spreading around the camp and her men would need to see she was no worse for wear or too weak to control them all. Then there was Eragon, Saphira, the red dragon egg and all the other pressing urgent things that she had to deal with and deal with now. Her heart rate began to increase as, automatically, she searched for a piece of paper and quill so she could begin to make a list and…

"There is always so much to do," said the Herbalist as she firmly pressed Nasuada back into the chair with one hand. "But the only way to accomplish any of it is to make sure _you_ are ready to set out and do it. And," said the woman sharply, "you are not currently in any condition to do anything."

"But Angela," said Nasuada even as her arms gave another painfully, mind numbing throb. Perhaps she should not have moved but - by the gods! – she could not afford to just sit here and do nothing when she was a leader of a rebel army and planning a long campaign into enemy territory that was ruled by a mad King.

"Do not 'but' me," said the Herbalist with unwavering firmness. "You haven't seen yourself in a mirror and I can assure you it isn't a pretty sight." With a flourish and a sweep of her colorful sleeves the Herbalist raised a small mug in front of Nasuada, "Drink this." Her words contained a note of sharp command that, in Nasuada's befuddled state, sounded like an order coming from an old, irritable captain who no one would dare disobey. "And then go to bed."

As Nasuada drank the herbal tea and Farica reappeared to help her towards her small, cornered off bed that was hidden at the back of the tent. Angela offering her a supportive arm to lean on for, to the young leader's annoyance, she felt weak and drained. Before the Herbalist left she murmured in Nasuada's ear, "I can assure you that your act today will not be forgotten either by your men or your enemies."

"That could be good or bad," said Nasuada with a rueful note in her voice, "for I could not do this again anytime soon." It had never been something she thought she would ever do, to begin with.

"Oh my word," said the Herbalist, "between all the healing I do for you, Zoe and Eragon I will be run ragged. Next time, my dear girl, _do try_ to find another solution."

* * *

><p>I wonder how many other stories like this one are lying around. They are the only testament to fights that have happened without you even being aware of them. These pages written in journals, on the back of music sheets, on thick stationary, old bills and whatever other materials can be found, are all that remains sometimes. Are they buried in filing cabinets and steamer trunks and book cases as we, the writers, disappear? As we vanish into the deep black of an endless night and the thick fog of the past?<p>

One can only stay in the daylight, the blessed sunshine, for so long and then the blackness of darkness comes and the thick fog. We vanish. Like candles going out into the night. Everyone has a last reader – are you that reader? Are you the last person who will pick this up, rifle through it and follow me along like a silent shadow? I think I can take some pride in touching your life, however briefly. I touched you; I reached you across this endless expanse of imagination, time, space, fear and illusions.

We have all gathered – those who know – in this tent. Nasuada had to endure her terrible ordeal with the Trial of the Long Knives so, I suppose, not all of us are here. Eragon and Saphira are also not, but they will be back soon and, with any luck, all of this will settle together just as I hope it will. The egg is heavy and faintly warm. I remember looking down at the carefully wrapped object as it sat, alone, in a dusty trunk in a deserted house that was haunted by memories better forgotten. This little dragon safely encased by rock hard shell had been to so many places and through so many hands. The tent that hides us from view is enchanted, protected by as many wards as I can possibly imagine and create in an effort to keep this moment completely secret.

As I sit here with a red dragon egg in my hands what I want to capture, to trap here for eternity in enduring amber, is how exciting it is to be here at last. How terribly exciting it is to finally make it to this moment in time. Me about to hand this egg over to Murtagh and watch, hoping and wishing, for it to hatch and let the long trapped dragon out into the world.

I want to capture the hot air that smelled of men, horses and dust – the smells of an army on the move. I want to capture the way the tent rustled faintly and how Murtagh, even kneeling, could have easily reached up a hand and touched the top of my small little brown bit of tent. Brom – the reason so many things had happened – sitting quietly on a camp bed and Arya standing very still behind me. All of were gathered here and I want to capture it. I want you to know that all of us are here – we have all struggled to make it here – and we are.

Because, dear reader, we are about to alter so many things and my hands are slightly shaking as I hold the heavy, smooth, faintly warm dragon egg. Here I am! I, Zoe of Angard and Llyr, who has scorned fate with all of her reckless actions is about to it again. It is exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Suddenly eager to have it gone, I press the egg into Mirtagh's waiting hands and I can't bring myself to look away from it. Of course it might hatch for him, but not for weeks like Saphira had for Eragon. It might not hatch at all, but somehow I don't think any of that is right. Some things may have changed, but this…this I think is still the same. His hands take it; steady around its awkward shape as though it is natural for him to hold it.

It had better be.

You see I wanted a dragon for Murtagh not just for the obvious and practical reasons, but for another one. I mentioned it to you briefly – did you pick up on it? Because maybe if Murtagh has Thorn then, when I leave, he will not be alone and he will have someone to share his thoughts and heart with. You see I was terribly selfish when I allowed myself to fall in love with this boy of another world in which I cannot stay. I was so freaking selfish not to push him away, make him learn to love Nasuada like he did in the books and I don't want to think of my heart right now. I have been selfish enough in this situation.

I want to be honest. I want the truth and only the truth now.

"What is supposed to happen?" asked Murtagh.

He raised his eyes to Brom and then to Arya. They were just looking at the egg, staring at it as if by sheer will power they could make it hatch. Maybe it worked and maybe it didn't. Maybe the combined will power, hope and desperation reached the tiny life within the egg and told it to wake and fight free of its prison for it was time to fly with its partner of heart and soul.

Because Murtagh got his answer.

We all got an answer to be honest. It was the one I had been hoping for ever since I had first saved this egg and prayed for as elf after elf paraded past the stone. When Islanzardi and her counselors had argued passionately against me and my arguments for taking it to the Varden and she had demanded in private meetings that I explain who I thought the egg would hatch for. I had fought with words as if they were swords and arrows to get this egg here and, in the rescue of it, nearly paid with my life.

A small sound suddenly cut through the brief silence before the man or elf could reply. I stiffened and it took all my will power to remain totally still. The sound echoed again – a faint tapping as if someone was gently knocking a hammer against a rock. As if there was something within that brightly polished egg and it wanted to get out.

Again.

It came again!

The tapping intensified and sudden cracks appeared in the ruby red egg with its black veining as the baby dragon inside redoubled its efforts to break free. A small chip of egg fell away and then another and another. A small bird-like cheep – adorably cute and totally un-dragon like – came from the egg and then a large chunk of the top fell away. It fell to the ground - hard and bright red like a shining ruby of the dwarves.

A small red head poked out of it this opening and let out another small cry before struggling to break away the last of its shell. It was all angles and bones – blood red in color with tiny white spikes and needle like little teeth. It was so ugly that it was cute and I couldn't help but smile as the small thing kept fighting valiantly to remove the sticky membrane and shattered remnants of egg shell. The little dragon was bird-like, its wings and body so fragile and delicate that one wanted to scoop it up and cuddle it until it stopped crying.

I was holding my breath. We were all holding our breaths.

It flopped forward; crying piteously as it searched for the person it had just hatched for. I could sense its thoughts and they were desperate as if the tiny creature was crying out: where are you? Where are you? I know you are here, but where o where are you? I need you! Help me! Find me!

Murtagh looked as if he was walking through a dream. His face was a mixture of shock, wonder and total astonishment as he slowly stretched out one hand to the tiny creature. He almost seemed to be obeying some command, an instinct that made him forget the world and stretch out that hand knowing, as he did so, what it would mean the second he touched the small body of the dragon.

His hand was scarred and calloused and strong. They were hands that could wield a sword and comfort me when I felt the world caving in on top of me and, now, they would bear the mark of a Rider. Now those hands would run across smooth red scales and itch behind an eye ridge or fix a saddle upon that back before taking flight into the wild blue sky. Murtagh's right hand was very close to the little dragon's head now, the little thing was crying even more piteously now and it was turning his head from side to side.

Soon, I thought, you and this little red dragon will be as inseparable as Eragon and Saphira. This little one won't be so small and you won't be quite so alone in that armored mind of yours, Murtagh. You will have someone more, someone who understands every little bit of you and knows exactly how to comfort you and keep you safe. And I can take comfort in that…I can even though I wish this was all different. I will take comfort – there will be no doubt in my heart anymore.

The dragon suddenly raised its head, snapping it up and Murtagh's hand, just an inch above the tiny head, came into contact with the little red dragon.

And the world changed.

* * *

><p><strong><em>***The song that Eragon sings is a modified version of 93 million miles by Jason Mraz. If you are wondering about all the singing in this chapter I will just say that I love music and I love it when people sing so I guess that works into my writing to. Also I love to listen to music when I am sad or when I am running - so I thought why not? Sorry if it seems a bit overdone. <em>**

**_Also, I am sorry this took forever. I had a bad case of writers block so I wrote a little for my other story before coming back to this one. _**

**_Review Replies:_**

**_Ray: So glad you do! Thank you!_**

**_Lysslys: I am glad you like the new narrating! I like to write like that to...Thank you for the review!_**

**_Nimtheriel: Never fear - that was my plan actually and it will help keep things original to. I am a little freaked out at the thought of the 'Mercy Dragon Rider' scene because, well, I am just not sure how I will interpret it. It's been a while since I actually went over that scene...oh and THORN! Yes he just hatched and I couldn't resist leaving it at 'the world changed' I really couldn't. Thank you for the awesome review!_**

**_Chris: Good to hear from you! I am glad that you have got all your family stuff cleared up! So glad you like the new chapters! Not sure about adding another OC...maybe. haha I just might so that the Z and M romance gets rather complicated! ;) Thank you and happy reading to you!_**

**_live laugh play music: SOOOOO happy people didn't kill me for that change...but I really hated the canon one and wanted my own version. Thank you for the review!_**

**_Skoilr: Thank you and good luck with your own writing!_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: Writing Galby scenes gives me a chance to unleash my inner evil villain writing side...its very fun! Z and M...it also reminds me of D and M or deep and meaningful (conversations)...thank you for the review! Hope you like the fact THORN has finally shown up. It took a while... ;) _**


	69. Chapter 70

What had he expected?

He didn't really know. All he had known was that, if the egg did hatch, then out would come a dragon and then he would become its Rider. Eragon had told him of how he had become Saphira's Rider and so he had some sort of warning…some sort of idea of what he was getting himself into taking that egg in his hands from Zoe's warm, slim ones which had held the thing as if she couldn't wait to get rid of it. But that didn't really prepare him for what happened next. What could prepare someone for this sort of thing?

And his hand had _hurt._

It had been a blazing, ice hot pain that raced through his body and bound him for the rest of his life to the little red dragon currently curled in his arms like a spikey cat. Looking down on the small dragon he wondered what name he should give it. Everyone had left him soon after the hatching to resume their duties and maintain a façade of normality – nothing had happened if one looked to Zoe or Arya or Brom. There was Nasuada to check on, papers to be signed, people to be organized and weapons to be readied for the coming battles. It was growing dark outside and the red light of the sunset made the little dragon's scales glow with reddish warmth.

But Murtagh's life was no longer anywhere close to normal – even to his own version of normal and there was no façade that he could hide behind after this. When Eragon and Saphira returned he would be whisked away to Du Weldenvarden where this little dragon would have a few weeks to grow and learn before they would once more return. Zoe seemed to have it all worked out and Murtagh trusted her – trusted her ability to navigate the politics and the coming battles so that he and Thorn would have a little time, not much, but a little.

Running a hand over the smooth, dry scales Murtagh gazed down at the small, boney body of the sleeping dragon-ling. It – no – he needed a name. Somehow Murtagh knew that it was a he and this little one needed a name…a good name. A name that would roll off the tongue, could last through centuries of life (with a good deal of luck they would have centuries) and be easy to remember.

For this dragon would be remembered.

This little thing with ivory spikes as long as little needles and who had burrowed its little nose into Murtagh's tunic as if he was all it ever needed to feel happy and content after its first meal. Yes, this little dragon-ling would be remembered. He would be remembered for his role besides Murtagh in this battle, for being the red dragon of a son of the Forsworn and for being second free dragon to hatch after the Fall. He would be remembered for generations in stories no matter if they won or fell into slavery or death. Such stories as this one would endure and, out of all the things to happen, he was suddenly one of those stories and it amazed him even as it frightened him.

But what name? What name could capture this little dragon's spirit, his uniqueness, his red scales and all the things that would come? Murtagh had discarded all the names he remembered from stories and all the other words in the Ancient Language that might have worked. None of them suited the destiny that awaited this dragon and his still unwilling, still fighting to get to safe ground and still desperately reluctant Rider.

An image suddenly formed in Murtagh's mind as he gazed down at the red hue of the dragon…

_He was standing in his mother's rose garden. The heavy blooms filled the air with their heady perfume and their green stems were covered in long, sharp tipped thorns. Stepping forward he lightly touched one of the gently curved thorns and winced as the sharp thing cut into his hand. Murtagh's blood died it a bright red…_

There was something about the color of this little dragon-ling that reminded him of his blood staining that thorn. For, he thought with a grim sense of amusement, wouldn't this little dragon one day be a thorn in the side of the King? Wouldn't he grow into something as sharp and dangerous as a thorn? Maybe a little larger than the one that had pricked his finger in that rose garden so long ago, but the meaning was still the same. He could feel the dragon's presence; feel how it worked its way into his soul, his heart and his mind. It seemed to grow stronger each second he held the little thing, each second he looked at it, each second he felt that tendril of thought that now connected them to each other.

The little thing let out a small snort and raised its head. Its deep eyes looked up at him with a strange kind of understanding as if it knew exactly what he had been thinking. It probably did even though it didn't yet understand the language Murtagh spoke it could read his emotions and see the thoughts that whirled around the young man's mind.

"What do you think?" he murmured to it. "Could you be a thorn?" He tried the word again, "Thorn? Is that who you are?"

The dragon-ling was looking at him with confusion. It didn't yet understand such words and so Murtagh reached out and towards that mind that was now linked with his own. He asked the question with feelings, trying to help the little thing understand and, as soon as the dragon did, Murtagh felt the warm rush of pleasure the little one felt at the question – at the suggestion.

It squeaked and stretched out its neck so that its small, triangular head was eye-level with Murtagh. It was excited – it liked the name it seemed and the bond, still growing, seemed stronger somehow. Reaching out a hand, Murtagh gently stroked the head and felt a smile grow across his face as the dragon began to hum and closed its eyes in pleasure.

"Thorn…you are Thorn." He whispered the words and felt them settle into place as he smiled into the curious eyes of the little dragon.

"You named him?" came a soft voice from the tent entrance. Murtagh glanced up and felt his smile widen as he saw Zoe. She looked weary and worn by too many cares, but that look seemed to lift a little as she smiled softly at the curious dragon-ling who was looking at her intensely from the protection of Murtagh's lap.

"Yes," he said. "His name is Thorn."

A strange, sad smile grew across the girl's face as she sat down heavily on the bed. "Does he like it?" She had clearly been busy writing something or other for her fingers were speckled with dried ink. Her sleeves were rolled up and she had abandoned her weapons at the front entrance where they hung from a peg on the support pole. They glinted silver and bright - elegant in their simplicity and so fitting for their young bearer.

"Yes," said Murtagh looking at the dragon-ling once more. "I think he does." Thorn was gazing with complete focus at the young woman sitting on the camp bed. Zoe did not seem to mind the unwavering gaze and she returned it with easy steadiness.

"Hello Thorn," she murmured with a faint smile before setting her small stone on the folding stool so that it sent out a bright, clear light before she began to sort through some papers. All the while Thorn looked at her and Murtagh did to, quietly studying the shadows that played across her face and merely enjoying the peaceful quietness that had settled upon the small space even after the wild, tumultuous events of the day.

"What will happen to my responsibilities when I am gone?" asked Murtagh after a few minutes as he gave voice to some of the worries that had been troubling him these past hours.

"What ones?" asked Zoe distantly as she frowned at a piece of paper before placing it back in the pile and drawing another one out.

"My spies," he said quietly as he absently stroked the soft scales of Thorn. "My spy network in general. The Varden needs it and I cannot manage it or gather any intelligence if I am long gone to the forest of the elves."

Zoe glanced at him before shrugging, "I was going to. I have already passed many of my duties on to those who I feel are ready for the responsibilities. They seem to think I am bestowing some sort of honor upon them." Her voice rose with amusement and he couldn't resist smiling a little to.

He raised an eyebrow, "You've been preparing for this?"

"Of course," she said with a faint scowl in his direction as if she found the question so obvious she didn't know why he bothered asking it. "I will be able to take on your duties if you can figure a way of discreetly passing them over, that is. I have also already contacted Islanzardi and she has sent word of your impending arrival back to Ellesmera. She and Arya are currently speaking."

"I am sure I can find some way," he said and then, softer, "I wish I didn't have to go."

What awaited him in the forest of the elves? What person did the Queen of Du Weldenvarden inform of his 'impending' arrival? But Zoe, he knew, would not tell him and he would not push for answers when she was so clearly only holding on by a thread. That night, he knew, was no time to pester her with things she could not speak of because of powerful oaths.

Zoe set the paper down and looked at him. For a brief minute he saw clearly into her eyes and saw that she did not want him to go. He saw open worry, fear, worry and desperation – everything that he could not help but feel despite the wondrous gift that Thorn was. "I know," she murmured and Murtagh could not help himself even as he saw her pull her mask back on so that those emotions were once more hidden because, of course, she did not want to lay them on him.

Placing Thorn on the ground he moved over and sat down beside the young woman. Gently wrapping an arm around her he pulled her close and she rested her head against his shoulder. The little dragon, affronted by being plopped on the ground, scrambled his way over to Murtagh and huffed his indignation at them. Zoe chuckled and Murtagh felt his own worry and dark thoughts lift a little at the hilarious sight before him.

"Thorn," said Zoe and she shook her head. "Oh Thorn…you will be something." The young woman stretched out a hand and the dragon hesitantly touched it with the tip of his snout.

"Do you like his name?" asked Murtagh softly as the dragon allowed Zoe to itch above its eyes. It had begun to hum and lean into her fingers as if it had never been wary of her just a few minutes before.

"I wondered," she said after a long moment, "if you would choose the same name that you choose in the version of this story I know. I could not be sure and I was surprised that you had…that is all."

Zoe rarely spoke of that version of history. If she did it was with such purposeful vagueness that Murtagh had long ago decided he hated asking her about it because her statements were so confusing that trying to untangle them made his head hurt. "Where is Eragon?" asked the young man as he pulled Zoe a little closer against his chest and tried to ignore the intense gaze of the drongon-ling who seemed none too impressed with the current situation.

"Still coming," said the girl. "I told you that he would choose another path than Saphira. She should be back tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Why? What other path could he have taken?" There were only so many ways back to the Varden and they were limited to dragon back or over land. What was his younger brother playing at? What could be so important to pull the Rider down a path away from his beloved Saphira and the duties he was all too aware of?

"A path that was right for his heart," she answered with a small chuckle. "You have to ask him to explain for I do not actually know any of the details."

"But…" he began, but Zoe stopped him.

"Murtagh," she said with a faint smile, "enough questions." Removing her hand from the small dragon, she placed it on the side of his face and drew him in for a kiss that effectively silenced him. The dragon-ling made his disappointment at the sudden lack of attention known, papers were forgotten in a jumbled heap and the world kept moving, kept spinning on its string with only gravity to hold them down.

But they were completely oblivious to it…just them…Zoe and Murtagh. They both knew they didn't have much more time and things were already changing as they both found their love on unstable, untested ground. So they clung to the few moments they did have left together and took as much comfort from them as they could.

Just them...

* * *

><p>It was the next morning.<p>

The sun had just risen over the horizon and I was on a mission for I sought out someone I had long wanted to meet. He did not know me, but I knew rather a lot about him and his courageous act that had not only secured Saphira's egg, but set this entire adventure, including my arrival, in motion. Jeod. The one and only.

Speaking of Helen, I also wished to meet her. She had always struck me as a rather remarkable woman and a brave one. Imagining defying your father to marry someone and then finding out the man you loved was not only a spy for a rebel group, but at the very heart of one of the King's greatest losses. I don't think I would have handled it all by choosing to stick with said husband, sail through dangerous waters, arrive during a battle and then, as if she was still a lady in Teirm, try and start her new life. If she was having a hard time staying cheerful or maintaining her equilibrium then it should be pointed out all she had done.

Jeod really should count his blessings when it came to Helen.

I found their tent where it was listed on the map that showed where each individual group of men was organized. I had been the creator of this map and the first to enforce, discreetly through Nasuada, a set order to the Varden's camp. This way one did not have to spend hours searching for someone to give a message to – one could get the map that was neatly folded on Nasudada's desk and find out.

I stopped before the tent I was looking for and, after brushing a stray lock of hair back into place, I knocked on the support pole. Doors don't exist in army camps and, for those still wanting to adhere to the rules set out by simple good manners; one has to make do - support posts and all.

It was Helen who swept aside the fabric door. She was a lovely looking woman and clearly someone used to the finer things in life. Her hair was dark and her face refined. While her forehead was a little too high and her nose rather too sharp to make her any kind of great beauty there was something about her clear, intelligent eyes and straight posture that caught one's eye.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her accent was different than any I had yet heard and she clearly didn't know who I was. What a relief, reader, not to be recognized.

"I wished to see Jeod," I explained. "My name is Zoe and I assist Lady Nasuada in the organizing of supplies and troops."

Her eyes sparked a little in sudden recognition. "Please come in. Jeod is here."

I followed her inside. The tent was simple – exactly like mine and all the others that were equipped with the basics and nothing more. A man, Jeod, was sitting on the neatly made bed reading a very thick brick of a book. He glanced up and then hurriedly stood up when he saw me.

"My lady," he said with perfect manners and a graceful bow. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

I smiled and said, "I wished to finally meet you, Jeod." Before they could offer refreshments or a seat I said, "But I have little time and," I turned to Helen, "a question for you lady."

"A question?" she asked in surprise. She stood very straight and her hands were neatly folded before her. Every inch a well brought up lady not used to the rough and tumble of an army camp.

"Could you run a company? A trading company?"

"Of course," said Helen with a brief nod, "I know all the tricks of the business well. My father ensured that." Jeod was glancing between us, a curious look on his face as he tried to understand the conversation occurring between us two women.

"Then I have a proposal for you," I said a wide smile. "As you might already know, I deal quite a bit with the supplies and organizing of the troops. Recently it has come to my attention that the Varden and its allies are in need of supplies from a reliable," I stressed the word 'source.' Looking between Jeod and Helen I continued, "Here is your start-up loan." From an inner pocket I pulled a leather bag that chinked as coins rubbed together. It was the same bag of money that I had first been given when I ended up in this world. Over my time in Alagaesia I had added to it and, now, it was more than enough – at least I hoped – for a resourceful woman like Helen and her equally resourceful husband to forge something new.

"I cannot…" she began but I interrupted before she could continue.

"It is because of your husband's efforts that we are able to challenge the Empire. This is the least I could do to repay that debt." Jeod was staring at me in open shock that I found faintly amusing. In a sisterly gesture, desperate to ease the ties between us, I rested one hand on Helen's shoulder and continued with a small smile, "Besides I have no use for those coins and I wish you to find happiness. These days are dark and, if you did succeed, then it shall be a good story to think of."

"But…" said Helen.

Jeod interrupted her. He was gazing at me with suddenly clear, understanding eyes. "Thank you, Lady Zoe. Your generosity will forever be remembered by us."

"I wish you the best success," I said and I took one of Helen's hands and squeezed it tightly. "And I hope that you both can find happiness after your many sacrifices for our cause. I must go," I said with a quick look towards the entrance flap. "But I am sure we will see each other again."

I left before they could shower me with any more gratitude. I could not help but smile slightly as I walked away and through the tents as the sun began to move away from the rim of the eastern horizon.

_I want a feel-good story. I want a story that inspires others because you worked hard with only your ingenuity, determination, your courage, selflessness and not because of magic or any great skill of arms. I think you, Helen, can give me that. What did they call it on Earth? An 'American Dream' story…I want an American Dream story even though it sounds so funny to say it like that or in this world when Earth is so far away. _

"Lady!" came a breathless voice from behind me. "Lady Zoe!"

I sighed and turned to see the flushed face of a messenger boy running towards me as I prepared for myself from some summons either to a council meeting or, with any luck, to a return gathering for a certain dragon. "What?" I asked as he came to a sliding stop before me and tried to catch his breath.

"Lady Nasuada requires your presence," he said in-between panting gasps and a respectful bob of his head. "Saphira…"

I waited no longer. With a quick nod to the boy, I began to run through the tents, ignoring the looks, questioning words and honorifics that followed my hurried dash through the Varden. Saphira was coming back and I wondered, not for the last time, how many passengers she carried. Had Eragon remained behind to deal with Sloan? There was only one way to find out: actually get to Saphira and find out the true story.

I found a pale Nasuada with Angela to right, Brom to her left, Jormunder just behind and her guards clustered a few, respectful feet away, standing in the clear early morning light on the edge of the camp. She looked rather worse for wear after her trial with the tribesmen, but she still stood straight, tall and many were the admiring looks cast her way by the men. If she had done nothing else, the young woman had proved that she was devoted to cause, brave and gifted with more than the usual determination.

"Zoe," said the Lady as I stop beside her. "I heard of yesterday's event."

I nodded, but did not glance her way. My eyes were fixed on the horizon and then, suddenly, caught sight of the glittering shape of Saphira swooping towards as she dropped from the higher altitudes. Light from the sun still illuminated her, cloaking her in a blue halo. She appeared like a cluster of stars falling from the heavens that burned even brighter through their fall from the high, unreachable heavens.

The sight me smile a little and I could not help but imagine a red shape beside her...from the expressions of awe and relief the sight of the dragoness was just as welcome for them as it was for me. The warrior who had brought word of Saphira's arrival—a thin man with a large, untrimmed beard—bowed and then pointed. "My Lady, as you can see, I spoke the truth."

Nasuada gifted him with a warm, unguarded smile as she said, "Yes. You did well. You must have exceedingly sharp eyes to have spotted Saphira earlier. What is your name?"

"Fletcher, son of Harden, my Lady."

"You have my thanks, Fletcher. You may return to your post now." With another bow, the man trotted off toward the edge of the camp.

Saphira flew as fast as any hawk or falcon, but she was still a number of miles away from the camp, and it took her almost ten minutes to traverse the remaining distance. In that time, a massive crowd of warriors gathered around the clearing: humans, dwarves, and even a contingent of gray-skinned Urgals, led by Nar Garzhvog, who spat at the men closest to them. Also in the congregation were King Orrin and his courtiers, who positioned themselves opposite Nasuada; Narheim, the dwarf ambassador who acted as the dwarven representative since the departure of the dwarves for Farthen Dûr; the other members of the Council of Elders; and Arya.

The elf nodded to me once as she came up to stand close to Nasuada, the two exchanged greetings and Arya commented on the startlingly white bandages that were wrapped tightly about Nasuada's arms. I ignored them, settling instead on keeping my chin up and my gaze focused on the swiftly flying dragon as my thoughts sped from worry for Thorn to worry for Eragon and all those blasted choices I juggled like a clown in a circus.

I stretched out my mind as far as it would go. Desperately trying to determine just how many passengers there were on Saphira's back and, while the connection was almost too faint to tell, I realized two things very suddenly: Eragon was not there and that we needed to get all of these men gone before Saphira landed.

Stepping closer to Nasuada as if to say something polite and conversational I whispered urgently, "Eragon is not on Saphira." The woman's eyes widened as she struggled to control her composure and I hurried on, "He is not there."

"How do you know?" she demanded even as she pretended to smile.

"Never mind that!" I hissed. "Get these men gone from here." I would realize, much later, that I had rather overstepped both the bounds of friendship and command with that hissed order. But old habits are hard to break as are lessons in command and I would never make a very good foot solider or quiet lady in waiting.

The woman gave me a rather hard, annoyed look before she straightened and clapped her hands. "Jörmundur!" she said clearly.

Jörmundur, who was almost a dozen yards away, came running, shoving aside those who got in his way; he was experienced enough to know when an emergency was at hand. "My Lady."

"Clear the field! Get everyone away from here before Saphira lands."

"Including Orrin and Narheim and Garzhvog?"

She grimaced. "No, but allow no one else to remain. Hurry!"

As Jörmundur began shouting orders, Arya, Brom and Angela converged upon us both. They appeared as alarmed as Nasuada, but I only felt a strange kind of calm relief settle over my mind as Arya said, "Saphira would not be so calm if Eragon was hurt or dead."

"Where is he, then?" demanded Nasuada. "What trouble has he gotten himself into now?" A raucous commotion filled the clearing as Jörmundur and his men directed the onlookers back to their tents, laying about them with swagger sticks whenever the reluctant warriors lingered or protested.

Several scuffles broke out, but the captains under Jörmundur quickly overwhelmed the culprits, so as to prevent the violence from taking root and spreading. Fortunately, the Urgals, at the word of their war chief, Garzhvog, left without incident, although Garzhvog himself advanced toward Nasuada, as did King Orrin and the dwarf Narheim.

I ignored the gazes of Arya, Angela and Brom that were resting on me as Nasuada spoke to the rather irate commanders and gestured towards Saphira. "What is happening?" asked Ayra softly as she stood very close to me.

"Eragon chose another path," I said calmly and in such a low voice that even I barely heard it. "And Saphira took another."

"But he is alive?" queried the ever anxious father in a soft whisper.

"He'd better be." I looked up as a torrent of air rushed across the open clearing where we had all gathered. Saphira swooped to the ground, raking her wings to slow herself before alighting upon her rear legs. She dropped to all fours, and a dull boom resounded across the camp. Un-buckling themselves from her saddle, Roran and Katrina quickly dismounted.

Nasuada, moved forward first, her gaze was fixed on what had to be Katrina. The girl who I had heard rather a lot about both in the written record on Earth and from those who knew her, had a lovely, sweet face. She was no elven beauty and she was clearly rather ill after her long imprisonment, but there was still something eye-catching to her. If one saw her in a crowd, one would quickly pick her out and be drawn in by her even now with a dress so worn that it was unrecognizable and her too thin body. Her hair, a coppery blonde, had regained some of its luster these past few days and her eyes were clear, forceful and very determined. It made me smile a little to see it now in real life. She and Roran seemed to be well-matched for each other both in spirit and in temperament. She neither flinched nor quailed at all the gazes that focused in on her but remained standing, very still and straight, beside Roran.

Roran bowed first to Nasuada and then, swiveling on one foot, to King Orrin as if he were a well-trained courtier. "My Lady," he said, his face grave. "Your Majesty. If I may, this is my betrothed, Katrina." She curtsied to them both.

Since when had Roran learned such words? I wondered if Eragon had a hand in this. For his cousin seemed more at ease with his position in the world of war, men, politics, touchy kings, equally touchy war leaders and even touchier elves.

"Welcome to the Varden, Katrina," said Nasuada. "We have all heard your name here, on account of Roran's uncommon devotion. Songs of his love for you already spread across the land."

"You are most welcome," added Orrin. "Most welcome indeed."

The King's eyes never left Katrina. In fact, every man present, including the dwarf, was focused in on the young woman who bore their weighty, discerning looks as gracefully as one could. Such, I suppose, is the price one pays when one's lover risks more than the usual life and limb to rescue her from a terrible imprisonment. Such sacrifices in the name of love have long attracted attention and made those involved into objects of wonder, inspiration and fascination to those who have never experienced such depth of feeling for someone else.

Katrina, a weary look to her face, just smiled and said a small. "Thank you," A faint tinge of red colored her overly pale cheeks, but her eyes glinted with pride as if she knew how remarkable Roran was and delighted in having captured his heart, of all the women in Alagaësia. He was hers, and that was all the status or treasure she desired.

This love was beautiful even to my eyes. For I treat love with all the shy curiosity of a first timer in junior high school who is equally afraid of its beauty and its ability to snap like an angry dragon. However, such love as stood before me is remarkable to behold and even more special when the two lovers are, in their own way, so incredible. Few, I think, could have survived what Katrina has. Even fewer would kill, destroy cities, commandeer a ship, argue, fight, face the wrath of the sea and then made up with a hated sibling just to rescue their beloved. It really should be made into a story of its own and I really haven't done it enough justice.

"Roran," I greeted with well-oiled politeness, "and Katrina." I smiled at the young woman, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Lady Zoe," said the young man and his young lady love nodded to me in greeting and I saw her eyes look over me with open curiosity as she took in my strange apparel and even stranger weapons.

"Where is he?" asked Brom as he walked up to Saphira and rubbed above her eye ridges with skillful, worried fingers.

The dragon's left eye sparkled with blue fire as she let out a long, weary sigh that ruffled the leaves on the trees. The dragon sniffed twice, and her long crimson tongue darted out of her mouth. I waited, barely able to stand the questions that I so wanted answered.

_I smell blood, _said Saphira as she broadcasted her thoughts so all present could hear them. Her words rumbled with a dragon's anger and she was clearly not only angry about the smell of blood, but something else. _Who has hurt you, Nasuada? Name them, and I shall tear them from_ _neck to groin and bring you their heads for trophies_.

"There's no need for you to tear anyone apart. Not yet, at least. I wielded the knife myself. However, this is the wrong time to delve into the matter. Right now, all I care about is Eragon's whereabouts."

_Eragon, _said Saphira, _decided to remain in the Empire_.

Brom was the first to speak, "Why?" His voice cracked like a whip through the suddenly still, stunned air.

"How . . . how could you allow him to stay?" asked Nasuada with an almost accusatory note in her voice that did not escape the dragon.

Small tongues of fire rippled in Saphira's nostrils as she snorted. _Eragon made his own choice. I could_ _not stop him. He insists upon doing what he thinks is right. I could shake him like a hatchling, but I'm proud of him. Fear not; he_ _can take care of himself. So far, no misfortune has befallen him. I would know if he was hurt. _

Arya spoke: "And why did he make this choice, Saphira?"

_Eragon, _said the dragon, _had things he needed to do and I could remain with him. _She turned her head to look at me, _He wanted me to tell you that he followed your advice in the only way he could and will return as soon as he can. The matters were personal and I agreed – reluctantly – that they needed to be dealt with a certain way. _

"Blast it!" exclaimed King Orrin in a rare display of public emotion and annoyance. "Eragon could not have picked a worse time to set off on his own…We have to get him back."

Angela laughed and I jumped for I had briefly forgotten about the Herbalist. She was knitting a sock using five bone needles, which clicked and clacked and scraped against each other with a steady, if peculiar, rhythm as she watched the play of words before her. "How? He'll be traveling during the day, and Saphira daren't fly around searching for him when the sun's up and anyone might spot her and alert Galbatorix."

"Yes, but he's our Rider! We cannot sit by idly while he remains in the midst of our enemies."

The King was clearly struggling to keep himself under control and so, clearly, was Brom and Nasuada though Brom had different reasons to be worrying and they were far more honest and true then the two leaders. If anything it was Saphira who had the most reason to fly after her Rider, but she did not. The dragoness weathered the enforced separation and the pain it must cause her.

"I agree," said Narheim. "However it is done, we must ensure his safe return."

Stepping forward, her eyes glittering with determination, Arya asked, "Saphira, where exactly was Eragon when you last touched his mind?"

_In the entrance to Helgrind. _

"And have you any idea what path he intended to follow?"

_He did not yet know himself. _

The elf readjusted her quiver and looked at me with hard, demanding eyes. "A word Zoe?" We stepped a few feet away from the others and I tried to ignore the looks and frowns that were directed towards us. I turned my gaze to the elf and she gripped my arm tightly, knowing, all the while, what she was going to ask. "Is it right?" hissed Arya as her grip on my arm tightened. "Should I search for him?"

I met her burning gaze with one that was just as intense and I hoped she understood for I was growing weary of this game of waiting for the right moment and hoping I had found it. They needed to make their own choices and I could not always give them answers. "What does your heart say?" I demanded of her. "Does it tell you to go or stay?"

Her eyes widened ever so slightly as if she knew all the meanings I meant by that statement. Did Eragon mean enough to her - not Eragon the Rider - but Eragon the person for Arya to risk enemy territory? What lengths would she go to for him? Not the lengths demanded by alliances, blood oaths and debts long owed and steeped in pain and vengeance. Not because she was a bloody princess and he was a terribly important and terribly difficult to replace dragon Rider. No, I meant something quite different and she knew it. Would she go the lengths demanded by friendship and - oh yes - by love? Because I wanted her to finally start opening up that prison she kept her feelings and heart in. Because Eragon needed someone who he could trust deeply and know, without a shred of worry or doubt, was there for him.

And I could not be that person. I would leave. She would not. This was Arya and this was Eragon. You know what I mean.

"It says go," she said in a voice that sounded strangled, confused and completely different from the one I was used to her having. Her eyes, so guarded and protected, were briefly cleared of their perfect mask and I suddenly felt like the one who was centuries old and not merely a few scant years.

"Then go," I said and she spared Brom one deep, understanding look before she bounded forward.

She was gone as fast and light as the wind itself.

* * *

><p>Slowing down was no longer an option for Eragon.<p>

Behind him were the vicious dreams which had woken him a few hours after he had set himself down to rest. Memories of swords swinging towards him, fire, blood, arrows, screams…he pushed himself harder. His mind still felt like a tempest – a whirlwind of flashing blades and severed limbs. For a moment he could have imagined the battlefield of the Burning Plains or Farthen Dur around him instead of the empty expanse of peaceful wilderness.

It had been so real. So terrifyingly real that he had wondered if some strange magic had pulled him back through time and space. He did not think he could bear to go back to…he didn't think he could bear to slow down. There was no Saphira to reassure him, to speak to him of the light and hope – there was only the impartial stars, the black sky and the endless landscape which had once felt so inviting but now only seemed to isolate him even more.

He knew what was wrong.

Oromis had spoken of it to him – gently trying to prepare his student for the inevitable moment when he had to confront these memories. Zoe had spoken on more than one occasion with the air and words of someone to who the experience was still endlessly painful. They had told him that it wasn't a bad thing, but it was hard and it was the heavy personal price that every warrior paid. Because, somehow, a person had to struggle to hold onto their humanity – the last shreds of innocence – and it was in dreams that the mind could truly face everything.

What had Zoe once said?

_"They were like dreams…only I, well they were so real and it was like reliving the entire thing. It was like breaking your heart over and over and over. Because you could do nothing to rescue anyone – your hands are tied…" A bitter half-laugh had escaped her then, "You could feel each injury, each loss and each moment as if it lasted forever." _

_"When did you wake?"_

_"When someone woke me…or when my mind could no longer bear to remember any longer." _

And his dreams they had been exactly like that. So he ran. He ran and he tried to run towards hope, light and the promise that he would be alright. Because, somehow, he knew that only once he reached Saphira would he find any true comfort. His mind seemed treacherous to him that night and he had nothing to ease the emotions or the memories except for the constant demand of running across uneven land. Perhaps in the endless rhythm of running he could forget for a little while.

But it seemed a little like a fool's hope. He would never forget some things like the burning pain of Durza's sword, the blurred faces of enemies and all the other bloodstained, pain tinged fragments of battle. Maybe, part of his hoped, if he kept running like this he would reach the day and the bright sunlight of morning would burn his worries and fears away.

When day did come, he stopped only briefly for water and a short rest before he continued on. The road was becoming increasingly busy until it seemed to Eragon as if a new group was always appearing over a hill. Most were refugees, although soldiers and merchants made their way to. Eragon avoided all those he could and tried to short cut through the empty lands around to make time.

However, unfamiliar with land, he made a wrong calculation and was forced to spend the night in the village of Eastcroft, twenty miles north of Melian. He had intended to abandon the road long before he arrived at Eastcroft and find a sheltered hollow or cave where he might rest until morn, but he had come upon the village while in the company of three men-at-arms. Leaving then, less than an hour from the safety of Eastcroft's walls and gates and the comfort of a warm bed, would have inspired even the slowest dullard to ask why he was trying to avoid the village. So Eragon set his teeth and silently rehearsed the stories he had concocted to explain his trip. The simplest, barest, most ordinary story he could manage to think up along with the most ordinary name he could remember from his time traveling the roads of the Empire.

The bloated sun was two fingers above the horizon when Eragon first beheld Eastcroft, a medium-sized village enclosed by a tall palisade. It was almost dark by the time he finally arrived at the village and entered through the gate. Behind him, he heard a sentry ask the men-at-arms if anyone else had been close behind them on the road.

"Not that I could tell."

"That's good enough for me," replied the sentry. "If there are laggards, they'll have to wait until tomorrow to get in." To another man on the opposite side of the gate, he shouted, "Close it up!" Together they pushed the fifteen-foot-tall ironbound doors shut and barred them with four oak beams as thick as Eragon's chest.

They must expect a siege, thought Eragon, and then smiled at his own blindness. Well, who wouldn't expect trouble in these times? Did these simple folk and rough pretend warriors worry that a Rider might swoop down on his shining blue dragon and burn them all to cinders? Unfortunately, he knew, that was probably exactly what they worried might happen.

As he began to move through the small town, Eragon thought back to the early days when he had been traveling with Brom and Zoe. Only a few months ago, he would have worried about being trapped in Eastcroft, but now he was confident he could scale the fortifications barehanded and, if he concealed himself with magic, escape unnoticed in the gloom of night. He chose to stay, however, for he was tired and casting a spell might attract the attention of nearby magicians, if there were any. Anyone and everyone was his enemy now and his greatest protection lay in pretending to be as ordinary as mud.

Before he took more than a few steps down the muddy lane that led to the town square, a watchman accosted him, thrusting a lantern toward his face. "Hold there! You've not been to Eastcroft before, have you?"

"This is my first visit," said Eragon and he might have been speaking of the weather for all the relaxed, nonchalant and wide-eyed innocence he put on display for the man.

The stubby watchman bobbed his head and gazed at him with dull, suspicious eyes. "And have you family or friends here to welcome you?"

"No, I don't."

_In fact I have sent my cousin off on the back of my dragon towards my rebel family and friends. If you only knew who I really was, dear man, you would not be standing here and talking to me like I was just one more irritating refugee. _

"What brings you to Eastcroft, then?" The man's breath smelled of alcohol and his teeth were stained. This was clearly not one of Galbatorix's more promising soldiers and this town not one of the more important staging points either.

"Nothing. I'm traveling south to fetch my sister's family and bring them back to Dras-Leona." Eragon's story seemed to have no effect on the watchman. Perhaps he doesn't believe me, Eragon speculated as he schooled his features in to one of complete, blank honesty. Or perhaps he's heard so many accounts like mine, they've ceased to matter to him .

"Then you want the wayfarers' house, by the main well. Go there and you will find food and lodging. And while you stay here in Eastcroft, let me warn you, we don't tolerate murder, thievery, or lechery in these parts. We have sturdy stocks and gallows, and they have had their share of tenants. My meaning is clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go, and be you of good fortune. But wait! What is your name, stranger?"

"Bergan."

With that, the watchman strode away, returning to his evening rounds. Eragon waited until the combined mass of several houses concealed the lantern the watchman carried before wandering over to the message board mounted to the left of the gates to satisfy his curiosity. For, nailed over a half-dozen posters of various criminals, were two sheets of parchment almost three feet long. One depicted Eragon, one depicted Roran, and both labeled them traitors to the Crown. They held a kind of fascination for the Rider who had, at one point in his life, never imagined he would be the person to who a reward of an earldom was offered.

But the pictures were disappointing.

They showed him as still as he had been before the Blood Oath Celebration and, the Rider had to admit, he had looked very young back then and very easy to find, capture and then get a reward for. Things, he was pleased to say, had changed rather drastically since then. He no longer had that wide eye look and, of course, there were changes that ran deeper then the eye could see.

Moving on, he slipped through the village until he located the wayfarers' house. The common room had a low ceiling with tarstained timbers. Yellow tallow candles provided a soft, flickering light and thickened the air with intersecting layers of smoke. Sand and rushes covered the floor, and the mixture crunched underneath Eragon's soft boots. To his left were tables and chairs and a large fireplace, where an urchin turned a pig on a spit. Opposite this was a long bar, a fortress with raised drawbridges that protected casks of lager, ale, and stout from the horde of thirsty men who  
>assailed it from all sides.<p>

He winced at the level of noise and his nose wrinkled at the smell of ale, unwashed bodies, vomit and who knew what else that the place reeked of. A good sixty people filled the room, crowding it to an uncomfortable level. The roar of conversation would have been startling enough to Eragon after his time on the road, but with his sensitive hearing, he felt as if he stood in the middle of a pounding waterfall. It was hard for him to concentrate upon any one voice. As soon as he caught hold of a word or a phrase, it was swept away by another utterance. Off in one corner, a trio of minstrels was singing and playing a comic version of "Sweet Aethrid o' Dauth," which did nothing to improve the clamor.

Wincing at the barrage of noise, Eragon wormed his way through the crowd until he reached the bar. He wanted to talk with the serving woman, but she was so busy, five minutes passed before she looked at him and asked, "Your pleasure?" Strands of hair hung over her sweaty face.

"Have you a room to let, or a corner where I could spend the night?"

"I wouldn't know. The mistress of the house is the one you should speak to about that. She'll be down directly," said the serving woman, and flicked a hand at a rank of gloomy stairs before vanishing off in the smoky air that was crowded with the hulking bodies of farmers, bosomy women and haughty looking soldiers. The men in red Empire tunics were louder than anyone else. They laughed and shouted and banged on tabletops with their armored fists while they quaffed beer and groped any maid foolish enough to walk by them.

Now the minstrels were singing:

So with her hair aflying, sweet Aethrid o' Dauth

Ran to Lord Edel and cried, "Free my lover,

Else a witch shall turn you into a woolly goat!"

Lord Edel, he laughed and said, "No witch shall turn me into a woolly goat!"

And he could barely contain his wide smirk as he laughed inwardly both with pleasure and amazement. It was not at the terribly out of tune music that massacred a song he had once heard so beautifully sung in the fair city of Ellesmera or the all too familiar sight of a crowded tavern in a town too similar to his childhood one.

She was here.

He had felt her the second he walked through the door. It was a feeling very familiar and strangely welcome after the solitude these past days.

He could not help but openly wonder at it as well as the disguise she choose to conceal herself with. The Rider did not bother to look around for her, but waited patiently for the land lady to appear. No doubt, he thought, she would have felt him and know that he was waiting for her in a more private place. She, he knew well enough, did not need him to help her out of the crowded common room.

The land lady was a red faced, busy person who directed him to a room and took his coin with a wide smile and wish for a good rest. The room she told him to take was lit with one lamp that cast more shadows then it did actual light. The chamber contained the same paneling as the hallway, and the chestnut colored wood absorbed most of the light that struck it and made the room seem small and heavy, as if a great weight pressed inward. Aside from the table, the only other piece of furniture was a narrow bed with a single blanket thrown over the ticking. A small bag of supplies rested on the mattress. There were no traps, squeaky floorboards, listening holes or any other such things after a thorough search that the Rider did without even thinking.

With a small sigh of relief, he took off the band of cloth that hid his ears and settled into a chair to wait, smiling as he did so, for the knock he was sure would come. It did, a few minutes later and the door opened to reveal the face that he had become unreasonable fond of. Yes, he thought, she had altered the shape of her eyes so they were round and cat-like, but it was still Arya. It was still Arya and he was so glad to see her that he did away with courtesy and rose from his chair to embrace her. To his utmost surprise, she returned the embrace and, while they broke apart quickly, it still made a small tingle of warmth race through his drained muscles and wearied heart.

"Arya," he said and then, automatically, he touched the closed door and sealed it against any un-welcome listening ears with a few words of power.

"Eragon," said the elf as she took off her cloak and cast it over the bed. Her green dress fell in folds around her slim figure and she looked strangely different to his eyes in such a garment.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Looking for you."

Surprised, he glanced at her, and she raised a curved eyebrow. Unable to keep back a weary sigh he said, "Why did you come looking for me?"

"Saphira said you stayed behind because of personal matters she would not speak of. Zoe would only say you had a different path from her…Is that the truth?"

"It's the summary of the truth."

"And what is the whole truth? What are the details?"

Eragon knew that nothing less would satisfy her. "Promise me that you won't share what I'm about to tell you with anyone unless I give you permission."

"I promise," she said in the ancient language.

Then he told her about finding Sloan, why he decided not to bring him back to the Varden, the chance he had given Sloan to redeem himself—at least partially. Eragon finished by saying, "Whatever happens, Roran and Katrina can _never_ learn that Sloan is still alive. If they do, there'll be no end of trouble."

Arya sat on the edge of the bed and, for a long while, stared at the lamp and its jumping flame. Then: "You should have killed him."

"Maybe in the eyes of some," said the Rider. "But it was not the right way for me. I walk a different path."

"Just because you find your task distasteful is no reason to shirk it. You were a coward." Eragon bridled at her accusation.

"Was I? Anyone with a knife could have killed Sloan. I suppose it depends on what your definition of a coward is." He was tired and the accusation was not something he could bear to hear after the dreams, the endless questions he had asked himself about Sloan and his own deep desire to once more see Saphira. There was nothing in him that night that would be able to argue his position with any eloquence.

"Physically, but not morally."

"I didn't kill him because I thought it was wrong." Eragon frowned with concentration as he searched for the words to explain himself. "I wasn't afraid…not that. Not after going into battle...It was something else. I will kill in war. But I won't take it upon myself to decide who lives and who dies. I don't have the experience or the wisdom...Every man has a line he won't cross, Arya, and I found mine when I looked upon Sloan. Even if I had Galbatorix as my captive, I would not kill him. I would take him to Nasuada and King Orrin, and if they condemned him to death, then I would happily lop off his head, but not before. Call it weakness if you will, but that is how I am made, and I won't apologize for it."

"So Zoe was right," said the elf as she rubbed her temples. "You follow your heart and it takes you down difficult, twisted roads."

"I will serve the people as best I can. I've never aspired to lead. Alagaësia does not need another tyrant king. Zoe showed me," he said with a faint shrug, "what it means to be a ruler and I am not that. I am a Rider."

And that, decided the young Rider, was quite enough for him without adding a crown and scepter.

"Let it be. Neither of us is about to change our opinions, and we have more pressing concerns than arguing about justice and morality." The elf turned her gaze to the window and the few stars that were visible through the panes of glass.

Tapping the arm of the chair he asked, "You didn't have to come looking for me, you know. I was fine."

"Of course I did."

He let the topic go and asked another question, "How did you find me?"

"I guessed which route you would take from Helgrind. Luckily for me, my guess placed me forty miles west of here, and that was close enough for me to locate you by listening to the whispers of the land."

"Ah," he said and left another subject alone for he was finding it hard to keep the weariness back suddenly. The chair was far more comfortable then the ground had been and he had sunk deeply into it, his muscles welcoming the chance to relax after the strenuous few days of travel.

"Why did you come to Eastcroft, though? It would have been safer to stay outside the village."

"Circumstances forced me here, as I assume they did you." He met her deep green gaze, "You did not come here willingly, no?"

"No," she said and then she said suddenly and with little warning or preamble. "The egg hatched."

Weariness was suddenly forgotten as adrenalin surged through him. The egg?! The egg that he had barely thought about these past few days? It had hatched?! "What?" he demanded and it was only through force of will that he kept his voice low.

"The dragon hatched," said the elf and she appeared suddenly tense. "It hatched for Murtagh."

Eragon was left reeling. "Murtagh?" he whispered and he couldn't help but see the symmetry…their family was one destined for dragons it seemed and his brother could not be a more capable warrior or more ready for the task. "I suppose it is oddly fitting," he managed after a few minutes of stunned contemplation. "What now?" He was looking to her, unable to fully grasp the meaning of this sudden change in events and trying, desperately, to piece together some sort of plan.

The elf shrugged, "The dragon-ling needs to get to Ellesmera which will occur when you return to the Varden. Zoe has it all planned out…as usual." There was a strange note of anger in the elf's voice at the mention of the young woman and the Rider wisely chose not to pursue it at that moment. Arya, he could tell, was weary even if that was difficult to tell on her smooth, softly glowing face.

"We must get back even quicker now," said the Rider as he rolled his stiff shoulders and felt that strange mix of elation, worry and wonder that the news of the new dragon brought him. He was too tired to really think on it now, but it was game changing and he was suddenly very uncertain of what the future would hold – not that he had really ever been certain.

"Tomorrow, before the sun rises, we shall slip out of Eastcroft, and no one shall be the wiser." Arya met his gaze and he managed a faint smile that, to his surprise, she returned with one of her own.

It seemed, he thought as he lay in front of the door while Arya took their bed, that this day was full of amazing surprises. A dragon was newly hatched into the world and its Rider was Murtagh son of Morzan and his half-brother. Along with that was this strange, oddly fortuitous meeting between him and the elvish princess who he counted as a dear friend. And, behind all of these various moves on the chessboard, was a single person who seemed to be operating three steps ahead of them all.

One of these days, he decided as he slipped into the welcome arms of his waking dreams, he really had to get Zoe to tell him just how she had managed it and how she had kept her wits about her even as the world went to war and the game became one of terrible stakes upon which the fates of billions hung. But, long before they ever got to that point, he would go straight to Saphira and curl up with her in front of a campfire. He would once more take comfort in her warm, soothing presence and, with such thoughts in his mind; his dreams were more peaceful that night.

_Just know, that wherever you go, you can always come home…_

_I'll be there soon,_

_Oh yes Saphira I will be back soon and we will take to skies once more. _

_Just you. Just me. _

_Soon…._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Yes, I am screwing around with the time line in this story. I really didn't think it was very realistic that Nasuada was up and about after the grueling Trial of the Long Knives. So I waved my magic wand and changed things around a bit. Hope that clears up any confusion people have about that. Also no Tenga...why? I thought that was a weird bit of extra that was added in the original. So I didn't keep it because I felt it didn't add to my own story and I wasn't sure how to make it original. <em>**

**_Of course: Thank you for the reviews, likes, favorites and reads! You guys are awesome! _**

**_Review Replies:_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: Glad you liked the chapter! haha I guess that makes two posh old twats...it is all very heartwarming and fluffy isn't it? I can't wait for a good battle scene! I think everyone has a evil villain writing side...you just have to unleash it! lol ;) Thank you for the review and happy writing to you!_**

**_live laugh play music: He did hatch! I know it is so OMGEEEE even for me! Thank you for the review!_**

**_Skoilr: Hope your story is doing well :) I do understand what you are trying to say about Thorn and I have kept his name from the books merely because I think it suits him and it makes things simpler when I start messing around with cannon. He will have a very different personality, just as Murtagh has a different feel in my story. I hope to have many scenes with them as they spend a little time in Ellesmera and start to grow a connection with each other. Thank you for the review :) and I hope you are feeling inspired and energized with your own work of art! _**

**_Chris: Those meetings are coming up! That will be next chapter :) as for the knife - Zoe has it. She just hasn't come to the point in her life when she needs to use it. That chapter is coming up and will involve some rather 007/James Bond type stuff :) so excited for it actually! I think Zoe will come to her true name a little later in the series...remember she is still finding her balance in her past and she can only find her true name when she fully grasps that...but I do think I will have her find it and it will probably play some important role in the final part of this story. Thank you for the review :) and it is wonderful to have you back and commenting! :) hope you like this chapter to..._**

**_General Dying Titan: Thank you for the review!_**

**_Guest: ummm...I'm sorry but could you explain what you are trying to say about Zoe? I am sorry I just don't know what 'op' is...thank you for reading and commenting! :) _**


	70. Chapter 71

"Roran," came a voice from behind the young man.

He spun and saw Brom who was looking at him with inscrutable eyes, "Nasuada wishes to speak with you." The older man was dressed simply, but his sword hung at his side and his face, while familiar, seemed set and there was an air around of him of a commander well used to his position. Gone was any sign of the grumpy old storyteller and, in his place, a wise old warrior who had seen all there was to see and had little patience

This man, thought Roran as he straightened from his task of building defenses for the Varden, was his uncle. This man was Eragon's father and, no doubt, was rather angry with Roran for what had happened with the Ra'zac, but the man made no sign if that was how he was feeling as he gestured for Roran to walk beside him. His words were just as clipped as they had been back in Carvahall and his sentences just as short.

"How is Katrina?" asked Brom as they walked.

Roran shrugged and thought back to his pale, still too thin betrothed who was staying with Horst and Elain until they could arrange a wedding. "She is growing stronger," he said and a familiar feeling of anger rose within him. How he wished that she had never suffered so! If he could go back and change things then he would…he would do it all differently and be more ready for treachery.

Brom looked at him with those deep, piercing eyes. "Just as your experiences have made you stronger," said the man as if he could read Roran's thoughts – which he probably could. "So have Katrina's experiences made her stronger."

The young man suddenly found himself unable to meet Brom's gaze and he turned his eyes away. "I suppose," he said reluctantly, but he still wished…he would always wish he knew before and was able to prepare for it. Eragon probably wished the same as did Brom and all the rest of these noble, death risking heroes that Roran suddenly found himself among. Perhaps they, like him, wished they could have had a little warning and a little more time to prepare.

"When you speak to Nasuada," said the man beside him abruptly, "watch what you say."

"Why?" asked Roran with a rising sense of wariness. More politics? He was beginning to hate this world of words that sounded like one thing but meant another. This was not who he was!

"She wishes to determine how best to put you to use," said the man and his voice was so low that Roran had to step closer to him to catch the words. "So be careful."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked confused and knowing they were getting very close to Nasuada's command tent and he needed more answers from this confusing old warrior.

"Exactly what it sounds like, boy!" said Brom who came to a sudden stop and gestured with one wide sweep of his arm towards the large, heavily guarded tent that flew the pennant of two swords beneath a black shield. "Don't say anything you will regret."

He left then and Roran was left to explain his reason for seeing the Lady of the Varden to her collection of scowling guards and then, fighting hard to adopt a blank face, he entered the pavilion. Inside the pavilion, Roran was alarmed to see that most of the furniture was broken and overturned. The only pieces that seemed unharmed were a mirror mounted on a pole and the grand chair in which Nasuada was sitting. Ignoring their surroundings, he bowed to her before standing straight and still as he met her firm gaze.

Nasuada's features and bearing were so different from those of the women Roran had grown up with; he was not sure how to act before her and only knew he had to be courteous and close-tongued but not how. She appeared strange and imperious, with her embroidered dress and the gold chains in her hair and her dusky skin, which at the moment had a reddish cast, due to the color of the fabric walls. In stark contrast to the rest of her apparel, linen bandages encased her forearms, a testament to her courage during the Trial of the Long Knives. Her feat had been a topic of constant discussion among the Varden ever since Roran had returned with Katrina. It was the one aspect of her he felt as if he understood; for he too would make any sacrifice in order to protect those he cared about.

But he did not understand the rest of her.

"Roran," she said in that rhythmic voice which drew the syllables of his name in a way he had never heard before. Automatically and unconsciously he rested a hand on the head of his hammer and waited while she inspected him. "My position rarely allows me the luxury of clear, direct speech, Roran, but I will be blunt with you today. You seem to be a man who appreciates candor, and we have much to discuss in a small amount of time."

But why, he wondered inwardly, had Brom warned him against speaking frankly? He wondered, once more, what this exotic woman was actually saying and he found himself automatically tensing as if he was once more on the battlefield.

In a low voice, as devoid of emotion as he could make it, he merely said, "Thank you, my Lady."

The woman rose from her high-backed chair and began to pace in front him. Her footsteps were quick, almost rushed, upon the carpeted floor. "To be blunt, then, you have presented me with two difficulties, neither of which I can easily resolve."

He frowned and his mind instantly sprang into action as he imagined the sort of difficulties she might be speaking of. "What sort of difficulties?" he asked warily.

She paused briefly in her pacing and met his gaze. "There is one of character and one of politics. Your deeds in Palancar Valley and during your flight thence with your fellow villagers are nigh on incredible. They tell me that you have a daring mind and that you are skilled at combat, strategy, and inspiring people to follow you with unquestioning loyalty."

He remained silent. Perhaps if he said as little as possible then he would avoid a potentially dangerous sentence. Where was his silver-tongued cousin? He had sudden need of his cousin's weighty presence and even weightier words to which even this commander could not challenge no matter if she had survived the Trial of Long Knives.

A smile touched her lips as she waited for him to speak and found he did not. "You possess valuable talents, Roran, and the Varden could use you. I assume you wish to be of service?"

"I do."

Which he did – they all had to be of service in a time such as this. He just wasn't going to say how he thought he could be of use – at least not yet.

"As you know, Galbatorix has divided his army and sent troops south to reinforce the city of Aroughs, west toward Feinster, and north toward Belatona. He hopes to drag out this fight, to bleed us dry through slow attrition. Jörmundur and I cannot be in a dozen locations at once. We need captains whom we can trust to deal with the myriad conflicts springing up around us. In this, you could prove your worth to us. But . . ." Her voice faded.

He couldn't stop himself: "But you do not yet know if you can rely upon me."

She stopped directly in front of him; her white bandaged arms were neatly folded in front of her. "Indeed. Protecting one's friends and family stiffens a person's spine, but I wonder how you will fare without them. Will your nerve hold? And while you can lead, can you also obey orders? I cast no aspersions on your character, Roran, but the fate of Alagaësia is at stake, and I cannot risk putting someone incompetent in charge of my men. This war does not forgive such errors. Nor would it be fair to the men already with the Varden to place you over them without just cause. You must earn your responsibilities with us."

"I understand."

"Do you?" she asked and he heard a faint note of challenge to her voice.

Suddenly he could not restrain himself – why was she doing this? – and in a voice that was lined with steel he snapped, "I have done many things just as hard as the things you have done, lady. Do not think to lecture me on sacrifice or duty or responsibility."

He instantly regretted his words, but it was too late to take them back and Brom's warning echoed through his mind with savage self-directed anger. What was he? Really just another commoner and he had just spoken rudely to a superior. Why did he have to lose his control here of all places? He knew why: she was insinuating that his triumphs had not been fought for as hard as they had been and that he had not yet learned what true sacrifice and determination was.

Nasuada did not appear angry, however, but she did appear amused and there was a flicker of something like satisfaction in those eyes that he wondered at. "You are an independent person, Roran Stronghammer." Turning away from him she began to pace again, "I cannot just place you on the battlefield, however, Roran. You and Eragon are practically brothers, and that complicates things immeasurably. As I'm sure you are aware, Eragon is the keystone of our hopes. It is important, then, to shelter him from distractions so he may concentrate upon the task before him. If I send you into battle and you die as a result, grief and anger might very well unbalance him. I've seen it happen before.

Moreover, I must take great care with whom I allow you to serve, for there are those who will seek to influence you because of your relation to Eragon. So now you have a fair idea of the scope of my concerns. What have you to say about them?"

He met her gaze and shrugged, "I only wish to see the Empire destroyed so that my kith and kin can return to our home and live in peace. My cousin," he paused and said simply, "shall not be harmed through me."

"Would you go to war for the Varden?"

"I already have gone to war for the Varden."

_I went to war without you asking me to. I went to war and killed for your side without you ever dragging me into a tent and making me play a game that I would rather destroy. _

"True enough," she said with a faint smile and a nod of her head.

Suddenly, understanding dawned in Roran as he met those eyes. She found him a threat. He was a threat to her and he suddenly felt as if this entire meeting was explained. It was more than his blood ties to Eragon, but his ability to convince his village to follow him and his determination to see them to safety. He wasn't sure what it was – why he suddenly realized this important fact – but he did and it made him feel better. This was why Brom had come and found him instead of a simple runner boy and why he had warned him.

He was a threat to Nasuada of the Varden.

Forcing this down, he shrugged once more and tried to stay as blank as his cousin could at the drop of a hat. "What do you want of me, Lady? Will you let me serve or not? And, if so, how do you want my services best used?"

She was silent for a long moment, her face turned away from him as she seemed to consider his words. Finally she spoke: "Here is my offer. This morning, my magicians detected a patrol of twenty-three of Galbatorix's soldiers due east. I am sending out a contingent under the command of Martland Redbeard, the Earl of Thun, to destroy them and to do some scouting besides. If you are agreeable, you will serve under Martland. You will listen to and obey him and hopefully learn from him. He, in turn, will watch you and report to me whether he believes you are suitable for advancement. Martland is very experienced, and I have every confidence in his opinion. Does this strike you as fair, Roran Stronghammer?"

It was agreeable – for the most part. Gathering himself he asked, "It does. Only, when would I leave, and how long would I be gone?"

"You would leave today and return within a fortnight."

"Then I must ask, could you wait and send me on a different expedition, in a few days? I would like to be here when Eragon returns." He hoped she would not ask the true reason why and just accept.

"Your concern for your cousin is admirable, but events move apace, and we cannot delay. As soon as I know Eragon's fate, I will have one of Du Vrangr Gata contact you with the tidings, whether they be good or ill."

Roran rubbed his thumb along the sharp edges of his hammer as he tried to compose a reply that would convince Nasuada to change her mind and yet would not betray the secret he held. At last he abandoned the task as impossible and resigned himself to revealing the truth. He was desperate to escape this tent, to escape this commander who was so wary of him and yet so commanding. "You're right. I am worried about Eragon, but of all people he can fend for himself. Seeing him safe and sound isn't why I want to stay."

"Why, then?"

"Because Katrina and I wish to be married, and we would like Eragon to perform the ceremony." There was a cascade of sharp clicks as Nasuada tapped her fingernails against the jeweled hilt of the dagger she wore openly at her side. "If you believe I will allow you to loll about when you could be helping the Varden, just so you and Katrina can enjoy your wedding night a few days earlier, then you are sorely mistaken."

He barely contained a wince and then forced it away. He was Roran. She was wary of him and he would not be cowed by this lady even if he was going to offer his services in her army. He hated her games and hated the way he was being forced to play them. She could have him and his loyalty, but not instantly with a snap of her fingers.

"It is a matter of some urgency, Lady Nightstalker." He ground out the words with open frustration despite his best attempts to restrain it. Inwardly he winced at his rudeness.

Nasuada's fingers paused in midair, and her eyes narrowed. "How urgent?"

"The sooner we are wed, the better it will be for Katrina's honor. If you understand me at all, know that I would never ask favors for myself."

Light shifted on Nasuada's skin as she tilted her head. He was suddenly aware that he was a few inches taller than her, but he did not feel tall in her presence but short. "I see…Why Eragon? Why do you want him to perform the ceremony? Why not someone else: an elder from your village perhaps?"

He shrugged. "Eragon is my cousin and I care for him, and because he is a Rider. Katrina lost nearly everything on my account—her home, her father, and her dowry. I cannot replace those things, but I at least want to give her a wedding worth remembering."

Nasuada held her peace for so long that Roran began to wonder if she expected him to leave. However, he did nothing – just stood there still and silent as she considered his words. Then: "It would indeed be an honor to have a Dragon Rider marry you, but it would be a sorry day if Katrina had to accept your hand without a proper dowry. The dwarves furnished me with many presents of gold and jewelry when I lived in Tronjheim. Some I have already sold to fund the Varden, but what I have left would still keep a woman clothed in mink and satin for many years to come. They shall be Katrina's, if you are amenable."

Roran was startled and his eyes narrowed immediately at her words. Why was she being so generous? To buy his loyalty seemed the most probable, but how could he refuse? He would not take such a gift and neither would Katrina. So, with a firm shake of his head, Roran spoke in as polite a voice as he could. He would be honest and blunt with her as she had said she would be with him.

"Your generosity is overwhelming, but I cannot accept such a gift from you, Lady."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why not? I offer it freely to you and your bride."

With a wry smile Roran shook his head, "Nothing is free and no gift is without its price." He met her gaze, "I shall fight for the Varden, my lady, but not for gold or jewels. Katrina and I do not need such things. What need have farmers for rubies or necklaces of fine gold? None. As soon as I am able I shall leave and do as you have asked of me."

Nasuada seemed surprised – totally shocked for a few brief seconds before she gathered herself together. "Very well," she said and her eyes lingered uncomfortably on his face and he was relieved to hear her next words. "You may go then, Roran Stronghammer."

When he emerged back out into the sunlight it was to find Brom waiting for him. With a dark scowl the young man snapped, "You could have made yourself clearer."

"You've got to learn sooner or later," said the man with something that vaguely resembled a smirk. "And the things we learn by ourselves often stay with us."

Roran chose not to reply as he turned and walked off. Why, he wondered, did he have to be thrust into such a world? How did his cousin manage to make it all look so easy? All he knew was that he was happiest and most at home when his hands were busy, his words clear and those around him saw the world not as a chess board upon which battles were waged, but as a simple place where all that mattered was the changing of seasons and finding love where one could.

That was his world. It was a world he would die for.

This was not.

* * *

><p>I stood very still beside Nasuada.<p>

The sun was hot upon my back and I felt a drop of sweat roll down my spine.

I had just been with Murtagh, going over the lists of spies and taking over his duties and establishing myself in his position. Thorn, growing swiftly and becoming bored with the small tent had grown quite impatient with us and Murtagh had had to go and get him some food while I played tug of war with the dragon-ling as if he were nothing more than a terrier. However, even though they were spent over business of the Varden, I treasure these moments with Murtagh for I knew they were slowly running out and, despite my best efforts, I could not always keep a lid on my heartsickness and I knew that he saw it in my eyes.

I shook my head to clear those things away into the dark crevices where they belonged.

The elven spellcasters were on their way and I had to be there to greet them as ambassador along with Brom and Nasuada. I knew that to meet with elves I had to maintain a cool façade that equaled there's and I double checked my mental barriers until I was satisfied that they were as impenetrable as I could make them. Looking out at the landscape I watched twelve long, lean figures make their way towards us, their outlines wavering in the morning heat. The elves ran in unison, light and fast upon the ground, and I found myself wishing they would slow down. For, as soon as they could, they would no doubt want to go and see Thorn.

My hand fingered the hilt of the dagger that Runon had given me. I had used it during the Battle of the Burning Plains, but I wondered when it would save my life. Runon, I was fairly certain, had to be gifted with a trace of foresight and so I never let the dagger go far from my sight. It was always with me now, just as my bow, sword and horn were. It was there until the moment when I needed it and Runon's reasoning became clear to my eyes.

"You don't seem happy," came a voice from beside me.

I just shrugged slightly for I had expected her presence and I did not bother with acting surprised. "Says who?"

Angela snorted, "Just call it a guess."

"Can anyone else tell?" My voice lowered so that Brom, standing a few feet away, could not catch my words.

"No," she said with a faint smile on her seemingly youthful face. "But I know you better then to take that perfect face of yours at face value."

I openly smiled at her words and shook my head as Angela moved over to speak with Nasuada. Trust her to say such things and I had to restrain myself from asking her a question – I would only get a backwards answer that left my head spinning.

Brom stepped closer to me and murmured in a low voice, "You must feel quite well practiced in your dealings with the Fair Folk after your time in Du Weldenvarden."

"You have no idea," I said with a faint smile as I watched the elves come even closer. "But I do not pretend to know them or to be like them. We came to that accord on the first day I was there." My mind automatically remembered the meeting between the Queen, Daethdr, Oromis, Arya and I that day in the beautiful and enchanting garden that, I found out later, was Islanzardi's private work of art that she nurtured by her own hands. It was, apparently, the place that she first met Arya's father and the place she went to when she heard the news of Arya's supposed death. In that protected sanctuary we had faced each other and come to as much of an accord as we could considering who I was and who the elves were.

"The same can be said for me," said the man and his face looked weary to my eyes. He had clearly not been sleeping and he had yet to give me my little stone back. Not that I minded – he needed the light when the darkness of the endless ways he could lose his son flooded his mind.

At that moment, the twelve elves emerged from the dry streambed, and I prepared myself mentally for the meeting. I already knew all the elves that had been sent by the Queen and so did Brom which is why – out of the three commanders gathered – we were not at all surprised by the leading elf's strange appearance. His appearance was quite strange and something to be wondered at especially for the large crowd gathered a respectful distance away.

Blodhgram son of Illdrid the Beautiful had a rather cat like appearance. He was covered with midnight-blue fur that glistened with a healthy sheen under the glare of the sun. On average, the fur was a quarter-inch long—a smooth, flexible armor that mirrored the shape and movement of the underlying muscles—but on his ankles and the undersides of his forearms, it extended a full two inches, and between his shoulder blades, there was a ruffled mane that stuck out a handsbreadth from his body and tapered down along his back to the base of his spine. Jagged bangs shadowed his brow, and catlike tufts sprouted from the tips of his pointed ears, but otherwise the fur on his face was so short and flat, only its color betrayed its presence. His eyes were bright yellow. Instead of fingernails, there were claws.

The rest of the elves were not as unusual in their appearance as he was. They were all fair, their bodies free of any imperfection and their eyes as deep as whirlpools. In the clear light of day they appeared radiant. I could name each and every one of them and I wished, quite suddenly, that Arya was here. She was their princess and her presence would have been welcome for this meeting. However her presence was better put to use traveling with Eragon and so I would have to do my best.

I waited while Nasuada exchanged greetings with Blodhgram and the other elves who then recognized Brom with the deep respect I knew they had for him. I was glad to see that respect for the man deserved it more than even Nasuada knew. Brom was the one who informed them of Arya's departure to find Eragon – of whose absence they were already aware from a previous meeting between the Queen, Arya and I. They carried some news for Nasuada and a few more pleasantries, laughter and other such things were exchanged. But then it was my turn to play the welcoming ally and bridge that an ambassador was supposed to be.

You see, reader, ambassadors don't usually argue with allies like I had. In fact, they most certainly do not do that at all.

The spell weaver smiled at me in that elvish way which is decidedly chilly and far too perfect. "Lady Zoe," he said with one hand over his heart and graceful incline of his head which I repeated. Behind him the other elves, all well acquainted with me, followed his example. We had done away with the official phrase in the Ancient Language, but I still replied to him that tongue as a sign of welcome and respect.

"Blodgram-elda," I said with smooth ease. "It is a pleasure to see you once more."

"Yes," he said with that cool smile. "Though we are far from Du Weldenvarden, my lady, and the darkness is falling across us."

I could feel the weight of Nasuada's gaze on my face as she watched the interaction between the elves and me. No doubt she was curious to see the familiarity with which I greeted these spell casters – perhaps she was even curious enough to ask me later how I had come to know them during my stay in the fair elven city. She would have to keep wondering, however, for she did not need to know all the things that her ambassador had been involved in from elegant dinner parties hosted by the Queen of Du Weldenvarden to nasty cat fight arguments over council tables.

"But it has not taken hold that darkness," I replied quietly and without removing my gaze from his ancient eyes, "nor will it. We have all come together to share our strength and fight it. Together we shall fight back against that darkness and seek the light at the end of this night; the peace at the end of the storm. Together that peace shall be found and that light restored."

It may sound cheesy when one reads it on paper – clichéd and overused all this light and dark and 'fight till the end' stuff. However, when one is speaking to an elf and one is at war in a world where there is magic and dragons…it just doesn't sound as bad and, of course, it is fitting. There is something so noble and medieval about saying 'fight back against the darkness' and all that.

However, I could also not help but think that, despite all the darkness this world may know, it had never faced a shadow as suffocating, as devoid of light, as the one that nearly coated my world. If Blodgram had known that evil, that vicious evil that delighted in the death of everything good and sweet…if he had known that then he might see Galbatorix as I saw him: nothing more than a mad man drunk on his power.

The elf smiled widely and lifted one of my hands with one of his cool, smooth ones in a gesture of simple unity – a symbolic one I suppose if you want to see it that way. "I am glad," said the elf and then he adjusted his statement, "we are all glad to think that you are our ally and our friend, Lady Zoe. It is an honor to fight beside someone as skilled as you."

I merely smiled graciously, not commenting on his words. We were not opponents but neither could we ever be completely at ease with each other. Besides, I was just another ambassador and he was a spell weaver – different duties and different expectations. My silence and quiet acceptance would be seen as gracious and an acknowledgement of the other.

"We were informed by Queen Islanzardi," said Blodgram and I nodded my head, knowing exactly what he was talking of. I was suddenly quite grateful for the safety and security provided by the Ancient Language. We didn't need the whole Varden wondering about what 'informed' meant.

"Perhaps you would want to meet later?" I asked. "Then you can all become acquainted. I do not think it wise for you to come with me now lest we attract unwanted attention."

The elves nodded and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the long train of nobles that Orrin was leading. With no desire to be here for this endless parade of names and curious gazes, I made my excuses to Nasuada and retreated to the safety of my tent to warn Murtagh of the upcoming trial. I knew, for I was not so blind as some might think, that Murtagh's parentage may very well become a topic of discussion in that upcoming meeting. These elves would have all known or met Morzan and, unfortunately, there was a resemblance between the young man and the father he tried to so hard to leave to the dark shadows of the history books.

However Saphira was also there, curled firmly around the tent and the dragon-ling, and so I would be able to enjoy her company as well even though she was depressed with Eragon being where he was. She would lend her own weighty opinion on the matter of Murtagh and I knew that she was on his side. At any rate, a few hours of pleasant conversation and quiet work would not be amiss in my busy life and it was far better than facing the torture of state greetings. There was spy code to be learned and memorized until I could rattle it off at the drop of a hat when it came time for me to turn to espionage in enemy territory. Oh and those lists on...

What?

You would make your escape if you could to!

* * *

><p>He was getting so sick of running.<p>

He wasn't even breathing hard, but the relentless pounding of each step across the hard ground made his knees and ankles sore. Blisters continued to break out on his heels no matter how tightly he bound them; any spells he did to ease his pains only exacerbated his exhaustion. Eragon supposed that was the price for not flying back with Saphira, but he tried not to think too hard on that.

He had been able to see her, speak in a stilted fashion through Nasuada to her, but it was far from satisfactory. Saphira…his beautiful Saphira who knew him better than anything one in the world ever had. For her he would keep running until he found her once more and could lose himself in her warmth, her love and her understanding which, he felt, he did not deserve after his actions these past few days.

His eyes, always on the horizon, saw them just as his senses began to feel them to. A group of fifteen soldiers coming towards them and, with no travelers around them or any place to hide, they would have to face them as they were: two lonely, weary warriors masquerading as commoners. They could enchant themselves and blend into the environment, but that would take energy and neither the elf nor Rider had much to spare for such a complicated spell.

As they continued on neither he nor Arya voiced any of their concerns, but he could not force his worry away. His hand was not far from his sword which he had concealed with a simple glamour so that it appeared as nothing more than a short, worn dagger instead of a ruby red Rider sword.

He felt like an actor and a poor one at that.

They kept running and the patrol kept moving towards them for half an hour before Eragon was able to make out the shapes of the men and the horses. After a few more minutes of running, he and Arya wordlessly slowed their pace to a halt so that the elf could pull on her skirt. Eragon smeared dirt over his right palm and made sure the cloth band around his forehead was secure over his pointed ears. A few artful smudges of dirt across his high cheekbones and nose was the best he could do to minimize his refined, elf-like features. With a great deal of luck, the soldiers would assume they were just another pair of downtrodden, dirt coated farmers fleeing the conflict for a chance of safety in Surda.

Simple. A common story these days.

Why was he so nervous?

_Because these soldiers might just force a fight on us? Because you really don't want anything to slow you down in this mad race to get back to Saphira? Oh yes, you are nervous and you can't deny it. _

The two companions continued to move forward only this time they did so with bowed heads, hunched shoulders, and dragging feet. Although Eragon could feel the rumble of approaching hoof beats and hear the cries of the men driving their steeds, it still took the better part of an hour for their two groups to meet on the vast plain. When they did, Eragon and Arya moved off the road and stood looking down between their feet. Eragon caught a glimpse of horse legs from under the edge of his brow as the first few riders pounded past, but then the choking dust billowed over him, obscuring the rest of the patrol. The dirt in the air was so thick that he had to close his eyes. Listening carefully, he counted until he was sure that more than half the patrol had gone by.

For a brief, dazzling moment he thought they would not stop and question them.

His elation was short-lived.

A moment later, someone in the swirling blizzard of dust shouted, "Company, halt!"

A chorus of 'whoa', 'steady there' and 'hey there, Nell' rang out as the fifteen men coaxed their mounts to form a circle around Eragon and Arya. Before the soldiers completed their maneuver and the air cleared, Eragon pawed the ground for a large pebble, then stood back up. His shoulders hunched and his entire posture one of weary defeat.

"Be still!" hissed Arya.

As he waited, his head bowed, Eragon forced his heart beat down and rehearsed the story that he and Arya had concocted to explain their presence so close to the border with Surda. He tried to reassure himself that, as an excellent warrior, he should not be worried - trained and proven as he was. Around him, invisible, were his wards which protected him from any attack that these obviously non-magical men could throw at him with their spears and swords.

But still he worried. His gut twisted hard and he had to ruthlessly force the dark thoughts away and impose a rigid control upon himself maintain the façade. Only Arya's steady presence made it at all bearable.

The voice that had ordered the patrol to halt again issued forth. "Let me see your faces."

Raising his head, Eragon saw a man sitting before them on a roan charger, his gloved hands folded over the pommel of his saddle. Upon his upper lip there sprouted an enormous curly mustache that, after descending to the corners of his mouth, extended a good nine inches in either direction and was in stark contrast to the straight hair that fell to his shoulders. How such a massive piece of sculptor supported its own weight puzzled Eragon, especially since it was dull and lusterless and obviously had not been impregnated with warm beeswax.

His mind seemed capable of thinking the most ridiculous things at moments like this. Eragon wasn't sure why.

The other soldiers held spears pointed at Eragon and Arya. So much dirt covered them, it was impossible to see the flames stitched on their tunics. However it was quite clear on whose side they were on and, from their undefended minds, Eragon could sense their irritation with their current situation at having to stop of another bunch of sorry looking idiots. If only they could just keep riding like they so wanted to!

"Now then," said the man, and his mustache wobbled like an unbalanced set of scales. His voice sounded bored – the voice of someone who has uttered these lines so many times they had lost any meaning. "Who are you? Where are you going? And what is your business in the king's lands?"

The horses stamped and shifted where they stood. The sweaty animals were uneasy even as they obeyed the firm commands given by their riders.

Eragon, knowing he had to be the one to speak for both of them, opened his mouth to reply as he purposely prepared to deepen his accent, but he never got the chance.

The captain of the small troop waved a gloved hand and a disgusted frown cross his face. "No, don't bother answering. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters nowadays. The world is coming to an end, and we waste our days interrogating peasants. Whatever you want to tell me is lies. It always is…"

His calculating little grey eyes inspected them and took in Eragon's scuffed quiver and Arya's small pouch which she wore at her waist. Once more the Rider was grateful that both his and Arya's elegant, deadly weapons were hidden by magic which made them appear both worn and of poor make. If the sported such items in their bedraggled state then who knows what would happen.

In a bored voice the captain asked, "What have you got in that pouch of yours, girl? Maybe some secret letters for the Varden?"

His very attitude suggested that he doubted it and, with a shrug, Arya opened the small pouch to show its meager contents: a small throwing knife, some dried fruit and a few coins which were immediately snatched from her hand by a soldier who had dismounted and then passed to the captain who regarded them with distaste as if such meager offerings were somehow insulting to him.

After a few moments, he turned once more to Eragon and Arya. A satisfied smirk grew on his face. It was the smirk of a man who knows he is in control of the situation and enjoys it more than he should. In his arrogantly bored voice the captain said, "So…so what to do with you lot. It's a pity we have to accept such wretches, but that's what this blasted war has reduced us to, scrounging for leftovers."

Knowing full well what he was saying and knowing that this could only mean one thing, Eragon forced himself to respond in his fake accent with words that could only delay the inevitable. "Accept, sir?"

"Silence! You insolent rascal! No one gave you permission to speak! Whether you are a thief, a traitor, a mercenary, or merely a fool, your fate will be the same. Once you swear the oath of service, you will have no choice but to obey Galbatorix and those who speak for him. We are the first army in history to be free of dissent. No mindless blathering about what we should do. Only orders - clear and direct. You too shall join our cause, and you shall have the privilege of helping to make real the glorious future our great king has foreseen. As for your lovely companion, there are other ways she can be of use to the Empire, eh? Now tie them up!"

Eragon knew then what he had to do. Glancing over, he found Arya already looking at him, her eyes hard and bright. He blinked once. She blinked in return. His hand tightened around the pebble. His little weapon which no one would ever have thought could be a weapon. The stone was smooth and warm in his palm as he shifted his hold on it.

They did not need words. They had long since both learned the silent code of fighting and they wasted no more time.

He did not bother with looking for wards or casting any spells. Instead he just acted and, in a smooth motion that was so swift none of the men caught it, he cocked his arm and, with a flick of his wrist, threw the pebble at the man with the mustache.

The pebble punctured the side of his helm.

Then all hell broke loose.

As the horse neighed and reared at the suddenly limp body upon its back, Eragon whipped his sword from its sheath and leaped forward. The red blade caught the sun as it suddenly was released from its glamour. The blade flashed dangerously and seemed to hum with the upcoming bloodshed. The horses neighed in fear while the men shouted in surprise, a cacophony of noise that was all too familiar after the roar of the last battle Eragon had fought in. One soldier hit the ground as his horse bolted in terror. With one slash of the ruby blade, Eragon killed the man and, springing backward, his body parallel with the ground, he passed underneath seven spears that were flying his way.

The lethal shafts seemed to float above him and he came up in a tight fighter's crouch as he confronted four soldiers who had decided to take him on the ground. He did not bother with looking to Arya – she was more than capable of handling herself in this situation. Just as he was, he thought with a grim kind of sadness that was erased a moment later as he sprang forward, blade in hand.

He was too fast for them.

He was just too deadly and only one man seemed to realize this fast enough to escape the deadly exchange of blows. The man, horseless, fled south along the road and, gathering his strength, Eragon pursued him. Arya was still engaged with two of the soldiers, for they were on horses and she had to duel with them from the ground. As he narrowed the gap between them, the man began to plead for mercy, promising he would tell no one about the massacre and holding out his hands to show they were empty.

When Eragon was within arm's reach, the man veered to the side and then a few steps later changed direction again, darting back and forth across the countryside like a frightened rabbit. All the while, the man continued to beg, tears streaming down his cheeks, saying that he was too young to die, that he had yet to marry and father a child, that his parents would miss him, and that he had been pressed into the army and this was only his fifth mission and why couldn't Eragon leave him alone? "What have you against me?" he sobbed. "I only did what I had to. I'm a good person!"

The man finally came to a stop and turned to meet Eragon's gaze. He knew, thought the Rider, that his opponent was more than a simple human and far more than a simple refugee or fighter for hire. Perhaps he had even guessed that this was the Rider they were supposed to be scoring the countryside for. His face was red and sweaty, his armor did not seem to fit him quite right as if it had been made for a bigger man and then passed to this man.

Eragon regarded him for a moment before saying: "You can't keep up with us and we can't leave you; you'll catch a horse and betray us." He stated the truth simply and quietly.

"No, I won't!"

"People will ask what happened here." The Rider felt nothing, his entire world seemed to have gone cold and he hated this. He hated this feeling and these words even as he said them with all the command that, without knowing it, he had unconsciously made a part of himself. "Your oath to Galbatorix and the Empire won't let you lie. I'm sorry, but I don't know how to release you from your bond."

_There is way, though man. I wish I could help you find it – maybe if you picked up a sword and fought you could change it. I really do, but I cannot and I will not slow myself down and delay my journey back just to help you. I am sorry. By the gods I am sorry because you are not the only person I wish I could have offered a hand to instead of death. If you and I met could have met at any other time then maybe, but not this day and not this moment. _

"Why are you doing this? You're a monster!" screamed the man.

"No," said Eragon with a shake of his head. "I am not. The monster in this world is Galbatorix."

"Then why are you doing this?" he demanded again.

"Because this is war," said Eragon with open sadness as he tried to simplify all the reasons for what he was about to do into as few words as possible. "And we are enemies. You can fight or you can die. The same can be said for me."

Above them the sun beat down. The smell of blood was heavy on the hot air and there was no breeze to clear it away. Everything seemed to be hanging on these moments. The whole world slowing and stopping; breathing suddenly seemed hard to the Rider and he longed to take flight and leave this ground for the upper climbs like he did with Saphira. A kind of endlessness seemed to fall upon the Rider. Everything was endless. The sky, the sun making its way across, the landscape and the road beneath his feet were all endless in that moment. He felt as if he could run and he would get nowhere – what was the point in moving? In acting if he went nowhere?

The slow moments passed and everything sped up once more as if nothing had changed.

The man tried to run, but he did not get far and Eragon made the deed quick. Shaking his head, he walked back to where the fight had begun. Arya was kneeling beside a body, washing her hands and arms with water from a tin flask one of the soldiers had been carrying. Her sword was back in its sheath and Eragon, still feeling rather sick, washed his own blade, dried it and removed some of the accumulated dirt from his face.

The water felt good against his skin, but it could not wash away the memories.

"I wasn't sure you would be able to kill him," said Arya without glancing at him.

"Why?"

"You didn't kill Sloan."

"Sloan had no way to defend himself," said Eragon quietly. "That man did and yet he chose not to. To kill a man unable to see the sword coming towards him is a far cry from killing a man who can and could defend himself."

She regarded him for a long moment. Eragon felt the sun hot against the back of his neck and he wished they could move on, but this had to be resolved between them and he could think of no better place for it. "Some would argue differently," she said in a careful voice.

"And they can argue their point," he said. "But if I am to go to war then I must know the time and place in which I will kill. If a man is a threat to me, to Saphira, to those I care for and those I stand for then I will act."

She regarded him with frank eyes and then she sighed, rising from the dusty ground to stand, tall and straight, with an air that only an elf could have. It was one of quiet watchfulness as if they were separate from time and place, able to look upon it with eyes well acquainted with all the sorrows and joys. He wondered if, one day, he would also have that air about him.

"I think I understand," she said. "Perhaps Eragon you have the right of it and I have been closed in my view, too quick to act and too dismissive of other ways."

He looked about at the blood slowly sinking into the sandy soil, the still bodies and the weapons cast about in disarray. The horses had bolted away and vanished in the shimmering line of the horizon. With any luck they would find kinder masters and what happened to their riders would be one of those never solved mysteries that littered the land.

"I feel as if this is all I am," he said louder then he intended – he had not meant to say it at all. The words had escaped him and fell heavy into the hot, still air.

"No," said the elf. "You are more." She rested a hand on his shoulder and met his gaze, "Think of all the other things you have done Eragon. There is more to you and your actions then dealing death to enemies." A wry grin touched her lips, "Think of what Zoe would say to you now if she could see us."

"She would have something to say," he said with a faint grin of his own despite the bloody scene around them. "And it would probably be spoken of from experience. Brom would have something to say and Murtagh to."

Arya turned away then and said in a voice tinged with an emotion Eragon could not place, "I feel as you do sometimes. I have fought many battles and still they feel the same when they are over."

He felt as if they had ventured into unchartered territory with this conversation and he suddenly wanted to withdraw. He knew not how to carry out such a conversation, there was no compass to guide him and his thoughts about war, his place in the world and his feelings for the elf beside him were murky and too difficult to put the right words to. They frightened him for, slowly, he was beginning to see that they were deeper then what they should have been.

Forcing himself to look away from Arya he wiped his palms on the edge of his tunic and surveyed the plain around them, counting the bodies without really thinking about it. "That's it, then, isn't it? We're done."

She looked over at him and nodded once. Her voice, when she spoke, resumed its usual rhythmic flow. "We had best avoid the roads from now on. We cannot risk another encounter with Galbatorix's men."

As they began to make their way away from the scene of the fight, Eragon was suddenly able to place the note in Arya's voice. It had been regret. Regret, he suddenly realized, for lives she had not saved and battles that had gone ill. It was the same note he would hear in Zoe's voice or Brom's and he realized suddenly that he could hear it in his own voice during the times when he told someone the truth behind his departure from Carvahall, namely when he told Roran. It was more than simple regret or grief. It was regret mixed with an acceptance of the truth of the past or the situation – a kind of weary regret that had lost its pain but could never be forgotten.

He wondered as they angled away from the road, and loped out across the uneven sea of dry grass, at which point he had finally grown up in the eyes of the elf princess. Perhaps it had been in Farthen Dur when he faced Durza or during those long weeks with Oromis when he would spend long hours with her wandering the city of Ellesmera. But he was beginning to think that it had happened rather more recently. He was beginning to think that it had occurred when he opened Sloan's cell and found himself confronting who he had been, who he was and who he wanted to be. The moment he turned to her and stood before her, defending choices she did not agree with, and not because they were foolish or because someone had told him to, but because they were true to his heart.

As the rhythm of the running took over his mind he began to count the steps. Imagining, as he did so, how many more lay between him and Saphira.

One.

Two.

Three.

And on. And on. And on.

Each one matched Ayra's and he couldn't help but notice it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Revisions have been made to Chapter 7 : Travel. <strong>_

_**Other author notes: Things are getting heating up romantically between E and A! Oh and expect a 'conversation' between Murtagh, the elves, Zoe, Saphira and a rapidly growing Thorn. That should be loads of fun...well not for Murtagh. ;)**_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**General TheDyingTitan: Thank you! Hope you like this one to! **_

_**Nimtheriel: Missed you! It is great to hear from you! :) yay I am glad you like that I kept the name...couldn't think of anything suitable for him so I stuck with the original. As for Zoe's true name I was thinking maybe I could use elements of her character and use them as chapter titles? Not sure...I don't think I know my character well enough to make her a true name, but maybe I could pull together some elements and give a general sense of what it might be? Readers could also add what they think to...not sure but I do agree with you that it was a bit anticlimactic. Ah really? Is it Norse? This gets me thinking...maybe I'll ask for a Norse dictionary for Christmas and start throwing words in ;) Thank you for your reviews and support! **_

_**live laugh play music: I will keep that scene :) and I am glad you like that the name stayed the same :)**_

_**guitarmouseknopfler: I really wasn't sure how to make these early chapters original...I had to find my footing a bit in the story again and I can assure you: following chapters will contain some plot twists! Murtagh will be leaving, Thorn is growing, Zoe will off to and some other fun stuff :) so thank you for reading and reviewing! It will be fun and exciting I hope!**_

_**chris: Oh you are awesome :) so glad you found it funny! and thank you for the very funny review! Oh I am sure there will be some spark flying. The chest? well Brom has it and I would imagine he would send it on to Ellesmera and those who know how to deal with it best. Eragon and Co. may end up feeling like a postal service for out of the ordinary objects and passengers. haha stay on your chair! (please!) and I hope you have a wonderful week with plenty of fun times :) and reading! Happy (late) thanksgiving to you to! I don't live in the States but I have plenty of American friends so I visited one of them and enjoyed the full-out craziness that it is! **_

_**Ray: I posted a new chapter to that one about 10 days ago...and another is on its way! Hope you enjoy them both and thank you for reviewing! **_

_**Guest: I will try to watch that and take it into account...thank you! Have a good one :) and happy reading! **_


	71. Golden Moments

Delaying the inevitable does not always make things worse, but neither does it always make it better.

That was true of this afternoon – unfortunately and terribly true when it came time for the elven spellcasters to meet Thorn and his Rider for the first time. I already knew this would be a tense meeting and that it would not be easy either for Murtagh or for the elves. Haven't I already told you that, for all that Murtagh might have proven otherwise, elves have long memories and Morzan's treachery ran deep and bitter in the minds of many? However, I was not fully prepared for what did happen or how I reacted. We met in a specially warded part of the army camp that kept people out, prevented them from seeing the swiftly growing red dragon or anything else that they most certainly did not need to see. Brom was there and so was Saphira.

To cut a bit of long dialogue short: the elves did know exactly who Murtagh was when they got over their joy at the sight of Thorn and they didn't hold back any punches. They wore their fear, hate and anger at the sight of the son of Morzan openly. I have no wish to remember those words, those poisonous looks or any of it for it makes me angry just to think of it. You shall have to imagine it and remember all the things I have told you both of elves, the pain caused by the Fall and simple fact that some things are never forgotten. I can be honest: in their place I might have felt the same way and done the same things, but I was not in their shoes.

I saw the stony expression take hold on Murtagh's face and Thorn, sensing his Rider's emotions, let out a cry and scrambled up to him. But I was fighting to control my anger, my fury and even though Saphira was making her opinion on the elves' words quite apparent, it did nothing to mollify me. She was telling them of his numerous achievements, the times he had saved both her and Eragon…all of it but I was hardly listening to her. I was barely aware of Brom lending his own words to the argument or of anything but Murtagh's stony face as he rubbed Thorn's eye ridges.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream at them and something took hold of me. An anger that was chilling and cold – deadly and strong in its ferocity.

I would not stand for this.

I had not stood for this kind of thing when it was Vanir insulting Eragon on the practice field or an elven advisor telling me I did not know what was best for a red dragon egg after I risked my life to save it. I had not stood for this kind of thing when I was Crown Princess Zoe, lady of Houses Angard and Llyr, bearer of the Horn of Llyr and second in line for the High King's throne. It goes on and on – my title at least and it was quite an accomplishment for my childhood self to write it out in all of its pretentious glory.

And I wanted to recall all of that glory – all of that imperious command that made you seem so regal and above everything. And do you want to know something? I can rattle off many more titles, deeds, command posts and thousand other things that I was, but that didn't change some things: I would not stand for it.

EVER.

"That is enough."

My words were icy and clear. They rang through the air even though I had spoken them quietly. It was like snapping a whip, watching people flinch and being glad that they flinched – being glad that you had so effectively silenced them. The reaction was satisfying, but I was hardly finished. I straightened, my hair falling back and my chin rising as if I was dressed in fine silks and standing upon a white marble floor with a throne behind me.

"Come with me," I said with every little bit of imperious command I could summon which, at the time, was as heavy as a sledgehammer. I meant business and it was like I had suddenly stepped back in time, back to the times when there had been a silver circlet woven in my hair and two brothers standing at each of my shoulders offering their support. But I didn't need any of that now – it was all there, inside of me, and it was time to act on my own despite my lack of a circlet or protective brothers. The elves stared at me, eyes widening as they took in my stance and heard my words.

"Now," I said and did not wait for them to reply. I might as well have been Islanzadi or my mother or even the woman in white who occasionally visited me.

I walked off and they, knowing I would book no other response, followed. Good little things, it would have been terrible if I had had to enlist Saphira's help to move them along.

I stopped on the very edge of camp – a completely deserted area where, I hoped, no one would intrude upon us. The elves before me were all gazing at me and they were angry, frightened looks. But they did not intimidate me and I felt like a Queen seated upon a throne. I felt strong and in command as my anger raced through me like an intoxicating drug.

"He is a son of Morzan," hissed an elf and I forcibly grabbed his arm and forced him, hard, against the pole of the tent. It was a move so against my nature that, inwardly, I was just as stunned as the elf.

"And he is a better man that most," I snarled so furiously that the gathered spellweavers winced. "Just because his father was a murdering traitor does not mean that Murtagh is."

"But…" began another elf from behind me.

I spun and glared at him with such open anger that he flinched and almost seemed to cower beneath the force of my gaze. "You have heard Saphira's words on the matter – do they matter not? You have heard of his numerous contributions from Brom. Do our words count for nothing? What is more: Thorn chose him. He did not choose any of the elves who came to try their luck, did he? He chose Murtagh."

"He will never be accepted," said one of the female elves. Her voice was haughty and it only added fuel to my fire.

"By who?" I demanded of her and she flinched, cowed by my words and my fury. "By the elves? Is that who must accept him? Because I can assure you: he has been accepted by both the Varden and the dwarves. He has been cheered and honored by them. In this matter," I said so coldly that my words might as well have been ice, "it seems that, despite all of your vast wisdom and power, you are all blinded." I looked at each and every one of them, meeting their gazes with my own as they gazed at me in stunned amazement. "Could you? Could you, if you were him, find the strength to refuse the role that others tried to force on you because of your parentage? Could you stand before Galbatorix and pretend to be loyal even as you plotted your escape?"

I continued on and my words grew no less passionate even as my voice lowered, "Could you look at a girl you loved and know that – because you were on one side and she on another – you had to kill her? Would you – in all your centuries of wisdom – be so desperate to escape from the Empire that you would watch your mentor, someone so dear to you that they were like a father, lay down their life so you could have freedom?" I turned back to Blodgarm, "Answer me. Answer me and tell me if he still deserving of your hatred and scorn. Answer me and tell me that you are all so strong, so perfect and so in control that none of this would ever have troubled you."

They were all silent. Completely and utterly silent and I drew myself up, tall and straight. I stood before them, passionate and strong in my anger at their careless words and cold scorn. I continued on, my voice low, "I can stand many things, but I will not stand for such complete foolishness and blindness in the face of great courage and determination. If you will not be moved then you might as well leave. Eragon and Murtagh are brothers – if you cannot accept one then you should not try to protect the other."

I left them with a clear message: I was disgusted. We were all disgusted.

* * *

><p>That night, Eragon sat staring at their meager fire, chewing on a dandelion leaf. Their dinner had consisted of an assortment of roots, seeds, and greens that Arya had gathered from the surrounding countryside. Eaten uncooked and unseasoned, they were hardly appetizing, but he had nothing to add to the dinner and so he refrained from saying anything of it. What was the point? Wasting words on complaining about the lack of appealing food would earn him no points with the uncomplaining Arya.<p>

It was late, and they would have to get an early start the next morning, but he made no move to retire, nor did Arya. She was situated at right angles to him, her legs pulled up, with her arms wrapped around them and her chin resting on her knees. The skirt of her dress spread outward, like the wind-battered petals of a flower. Her face lit by the flickering flames of the fire.

His chin sunk low against his chest and his thoughts far away, Eragon massaged his right hand with his left absently as he thought about what awaited him. There was, out of all the things he could worry about, something that was bothering him more than it should have been: Zar'roc. The red sword should have gone to Murtagh and, while they had never spoken about it, it had always niggled at Eragon. His half-brother would now need a Rider sword and the red blade now had even more reason to go to its rightful owner. So what could he do? He needed a sword and so did Murtagh – neither of them could afford not to have one that would hold up to the hammering of the coming battles. But what did he do? He was determined, one way or the other, to give the sword to Murtagh, but Eragon needed one to.

Staring at his hands he traced the scars that littered them. There weren't many, but there were a few that had not yet faded since the last battle he had been involved in. He rather liked them; wanted to be able to see some of his story and his struggle written out across them in such a way. He tightened his hands into fists and slowly turned them from side to side, watching the shadows deepen and fade between his knuckles. These hands needed their own sword and he could hear, as if it were yesterday, Solembum's telling him to search beneath the Menoa Tree. It seemed that his chance to return to Du Weldenvarden was coming sooner than he had expected and would, with any luck, provide a chance to discover what exactly the werecat had meant.

"What are you thinking?" asked Arya peering at him through a veil of her black hair.

"Thinking that Zar'roc needs to be returned to its rightful owner and I need a new sword."

Arya studied him for a brief moment, "I agree. However, a sword such as it…well it is hard to come by even among the smiths of my people."

"I know, but the sword was never mine to wield. It has served me, but not truly."

She nodded and returned to gazing at the fire. Her silence was one of agreement and their small camp descended once more into quiet reflection.

He was remarkably content. Stretched out upon the soft ground with the first stars beginning to appear above like little lanterns flickering on it was easy to think of what might await him in the immediate future. Beyond that, he dared not speculate, for if he did, he would begin to ask himself how he and Saphira could possibly defeat Galbatorix, and then panic would sink its icy claws into him.

He knew that well by now.

So he did not think on it, he just lived in the moment and tried to find peace where he could.

He fixed his gaze on the flickering depths of the fire. There, in that writhing inferno, he sought to forget his cares and responsibilities. But the constant motion of the flames soon lulled him into a passive state where unrelated fragments of thoughts, sounds, images, and emotions drifted through him like snowflakes falling from a calm winter's sky. And amid that flurry, there appeared the face of the soldier who had begged for his life. Again Eragon saw him crying, and again he heard his desperate pleas, and again he felt how easy it had been to slash downward with the ruby red blade.

He did not regret his actions…but the memories. Oh the memories! They haunted him, taunted his thoughts and made his senses tingle with the memories, sights, sounds and smells of the battlefield. It made him grimace as he lost the battle to keep his face clear of any emotion and, her eyes flicking to him, Arya saw the expression on his face and the emotions shining in his eyes.

Somewhere, far out in the darkness around them, a wolf howled. The sound of the howls made the Rider think of the battle-cry of a charging Kull.

He winced.

"What's wrong?" asked Arya. "Is it the wolves? They shall not bother us, you know. They are teaching their pups how to hunt, and they won't allow their younglings near creatures who smell as strangely as we do."

"It's not the wolves out there," said Eragon as he fingered a stone. "It's the wolves in here." He tapped the middle of his forehead and looked away. Why was it so hard to admit it? Why did he not want Arya to think him weak or affected by the horrors he had seen? The logical part of him told him to share it, but another argued fiercely against it. It was burden to bear, not hers.

Arya nodded, a sharp, birdlike motion that betrayed the fact she was not human, even though she had assumed the shape of one. "It is always thus. The monsters of the mind are far worse than those that actually exist. Fear, doubt, and hate have hamstrung more people than beasts ever have."

"And love," he pointed out.

"And love," she admitted. "Also greed and jealousy and every other obsessive urge the sentient races are susceptible to." They were silent for a long moment and then she asked quietly, "Have you ever cared for someone?"

"No," said Eragon. "I love Saphira, but I have never known a love like Roran's. That is foreign to me and wondrous in its beauty – its fragility in the face of fate." He looked over at her, "What about you? Have you ever?"

"Yes," she said. "But I did not know it until it was too late. Until the chance at it had long since ended…" her voice trailed off and he knew who she spoke of.

Faolin had been a topic of conversation they had barely engaged in during his time in Du Weldenvarden. The dead elf not something either of them had either had reason to speak of nor the desire. She had shown him the flower – the beautiful blossom back in Du Weldenvarden. That encounter had been quite enough to tell him that Faolin had been more than a close comrade. He had never broached that subject with Arya and she had only mentioned the elf casually once or twice.

Perhaps he was feeling brave, a foolish bravery caused by his weariness, the starry sky and his fear of the dreams that haunted him. Or was it because she was always so untouchable to him and he was desperate to reach beyond her high walls? Regardless he found the courage to ask, "Was it Faolin?"

She looked at him with suddenly shuttered eyes, "Yes. Yes it was." Her words did not falter, but she did look away and turned her face towards the sky. Even dusty, her hair pulled sharply back and her clothes worn by the road, she was beautiful. The silvery moonlight illuminated her delicate frame, catching in her ebony hair and, in the faint breeze that touched the air, a few of those strands danced. A faint glow hung around, as it did around all elves, and it was most apparent at times like this.

Despite her beauty and grace, he found himself looking beyond it and into her eyes. Zoe had taught him to look beyond the first impression – to see more than the beautiful face, the sweet smile or the clever words. Now, in these quite moments between him and Arya, he found himself trying to go deeper, to sink into her eyes and see the secrets, the memories and the feelings she kept locked away.

He nodded and turned his gaze away, defeated by her walls and half-wondering if he would ever know who Arya really was. "I wonder if I ever shall ever know it," his voice trailed off with an almost wistful note to it.

Arya smiled slightly, "You are immortal now, Eragon. I am sure that at some point you shall experience such a thing."

"Will you?"

Her gaze flicked away from his as if the question troubled her more than she wanted him to know. "Perhaps," but there was a note of clear doubt in its lyrical tone and he knew she did not truly believe it. "But it would have to be the right person. Someone who understood why I have done what I have and what it has shaped me into." She fingered the edge of her skirt, "I am not like other elves as you already know."

"No," he said with a faint smile. "And I am glad of it. You frightened me when I first met you – I did not know how to treat you. But then, in Ellesmera, I found that I could relate to you better than anyone else besides Saphira and Zoe."

"It was the same for me during my time at home," said the elf without looking at him. Her voice was as soft as a feather lightly touching down. "How have you found these past weeks, Eragon? I have not had a chance to ask you."

He shrugged and thought of the time he had spent running alone which had provided such an excellent chance to review everything. It had given him too much time to linger on things better left untouched when he was alone and far from those he loved. So, in the end, how was he doing? He sighed heavily and spoke softly, "I find myself asking myself how I should feel. How am I supposed to feel about this war and endless bloodshed?" His eyes rested on the dancing flames and he saw the faces and landscape of the Burning Plains and in the inside of Farthen Dur. Around him was the ever expansive night that cloaked the land around them in shadow. "Am I supposed to be haunted by faces? By the places and the sounds and the memories of war that refuse to fade?" His voice rose slightly and he could not contain the note of desperation.

Arya tightened her arms around her legs, her gaze pensive. A flame jetted upward as the fire incinerated one of the moths circling the camp. "Gánga," she murmured, and motioned with a finger. With a flutter of downy wings, the moths departed. Never lifting her eyes from the clump of burning branches, she said, "I know of what you speak – all who go to war do. I soon realized I would go mad if I continued to dwell upon it. I had to let it go and learn to see my reasons clearly. I found that they were good reasons and the cause that I fought for was worth the sacrifices."

"Zoe told me you that she just held onto the things she knew and loved – trusted in them and those around her. But I had little time to talk with her about it and she seemed distracted by many other things." The Rider flicked a tiny pebble away into the darkness. She had been distracted by a trunk filled with mysterious objects, worried for a dragon egg and wrapped up in the affairs of war.

Arya sighed, "I found peace…I found what peace I could in the memory of the gardens of Tialdarí Hall."

"Did it work?"

She shrugged, "It worked for me. I had to find peace within myself before I could look beyond the corrosive poison of violence." She paused and then added, "Breathing helps too."

"And Saphira," he murmured and his heart lurched slightly within his chest at the thought of her.

Arya smiled slightly at him, "You and Saphira have grown even closer in the time I have known the pair of you."

"She is my anchor," he said frankly.

"Are you frightened of losing her?" asked Arya and he wondered at the question. Never before had he and the elf princess spoken so frankly and without any regard to what was an appropriate question and what was not. He found that, despite the terror the question raised in him, he was willing to answer Arya in a way he doubted he could answer Zoe or Brom or even Oromis.

"More terrified than anything else," he replied and he looked out into the darkened shadows that stretched out around them.

The wolves howled again in the distance and, despite an initial burst of trepidation, he found that he was able to listen to them without fear. Their baying had lost the power to unsettle him and, as the sound died away, he looked over at Arya. She was sitting very still and quiet in the way that only an elf can for they knew not the meaning of passing time.

"How did you come to Gil'ead?" he asked it without thinking and the question clearly surprised Arya. She met his gaze and he continued, "Neither you nor your companions would have been easy to capture, Arya."

"No," she said. "We were not, but Durza was wily and we did not think he would launch such an attack so close to the borders of Du Weldenvarden. His arrows were enchanted with dark magic and…" her voice trailed off and he needed to hear no more.

He knew what happened afterwards.

"It was endless," she said in a low monotone. The sound of it startled Eragon and he looked at her in surprise as she continued. "Day in and day out he tended to me as if I complicated puzzle he wished to disassemble. But puzzles do not scream, they do not curse, struggle and throw-up into their hair. And through it I had to think of Faolin…I did not want him to accompany him, but Islanzadi did and he wished to – he saw the world as I did and wanted to go beyond the borders of Du Weldenvarden."

"You are here," said Eragon quietly. "And Durza is gone from this world."

"By your hand," said Arya meeting his gaze and her eyes shone with unshed tears. "You – a young and untested Rider – were the one to avenge the crimes he committed. Zoe tried to tell me before, in her recount of her time traveling with you, that I was wrong to view you as I did." She shook her head, "Zoe has told me many things."

"Oh?" he asked with a faint smile as remembered a few of his more memorable conversations with the young woman of another world. "What does she tell you?"

Arya was studying the constellations above them as if they told a story she could almost understand, but not quite and it fascinated her. "She told me I was foolish to be angry with you after you created the fairth of the Faolin's flower. It was Zoe who reminded me that, over the time I had known you, we had become friends."

Eragon regarded her and thought back to that time. The elf had been cold, almost confused he realized, after that encounter and it had been strangely upsetting for him. That Zoe had a hand in bringing them back together did not, on reflection, seem that strange. "You know why I created it?"

"No," she said. "I never really asked."

"It reminded me of home," said Eragon and he too turned his eyes to the stars and away from the princess. "It spoke of the Spine, the mountain streams, Carvahall and the things I had left behind. But it was you who showed it to me and you who led me through the world of Ellesmera…it made me think of you to."

Arya regarded him for a few long minutes. "Of me?" she asked.

He smiled a little at her. "Of you," he confirmed.

Arya reached up and dabbed at her shining eyes, "Why do you ask such things?"

"Because," said Eragon with a hopeless shrug, "we are alone. Because I am tired of not asking and tired of not knowing how I feel about you."

She laughed a little then but not in amusement. "Feel about me?"

"Yes," he responded without looking at her. "How I feel about you."

He wasn't sure why he did it. Was it because he wished to lighten her burden? To ease the pain of her memories and her love that never had a chance to flourish because of one horrible night? Long ago, sometime after leaving Carvahall, Eragon had come to know he could not answer every question nor understand the reason behind every action or word. All he could do was muddle through and hope an answer came to him – that his road would become clear. There Angela's prophecy and the reminder that, out of the women in his world, he would love one of noble birth.

In a voice almost inaudible he murmured, "Loivissa." Guided by the power of the true name, he sifted through the earth by his feet until his fingers closed upon what he sought: a thin, papery disk half the size of his smallest fingernail. Holding his breath, he deposited it in his right palm, centering it over his gedwëy ignasia with as much delicacy as he could muster. He reviewed what Oromis had taught him concerning the sort of spell he was about to cast to ensure he would not make a mistake, and then he began to sing after the fashion of the elves, smooth and flowing:

Eldhrimner O Loivissa nuanen, dautr abr deloi,

Eldhrimner nen ono weohnataí medh solus un thringa,

Eldhrimner un fortha onr fëon vara,

Wiol allr sjon.

Eldhrimner O Loivissa nuanen . . .

Again and again, Eragon repeated the same four lines, directing them toward the brown flake in his hand.

The flake trembled and then swelled and bulged, becoming spherical. White tendrils an inch or two long sprouted from the bottom of the peeling globe, tickling Eragon, while a thin green stem poked its way out of the tip and, at his urging, shot nearly a foot in the air. A single leaf, broad and flat, grew from the side of the stem. Then the tip of the stem thickened, drooped, and, after a moment of seeming inactivity, split into five segments that expanded outward to reveal the waxy petals of a deep-throated lily. The flower was pale blue and shaped like a bell.

Examining his creation for a moment, he handed the lily to Arya. "It is only lily," he said with a faint shrug. "But I am only Eragon and I have not the skill to create anything like the flower Faolin gave you."

"You should not have," she said, but the smile upon her face told him that she did not mean his words.

With one long, slim finger she caressed the underside of the blossom and lifted it to smell. The lines on her face eased. For several minutes, she admired the lily. Then she scooped a hole in the soil next to her and planted the bulb, pressing down the soil with the flat of her hand. She touched the petals again and kept glancing at the lily as she said, "Thank you. Giving flowers is a custom both our races share, but we elves attach greater importance to the practice than do humans. It signifies all that is good: life, beauty, rebirth, friendship, and more. I explain so you understand how much this means to me. You did not know, but—"

"I knew."

Arya regarded him with a solemn countenance, as if to decide what he was about. "Forgive me."

He moved forward and closer to Arya. Gently touching the flower, he smiled slightly at the elf that suddenly seemed very close with nothing but the slim, faintly glowing flower between them. Eragon suddenly felt as if he had been journeying across a wide sea with no map or compass him but, without meaning to, had suddenly found that he was gazing upon a shoreline that had not been there a moment before. It was a ragged expanse of rock and sheltered coves where he could dock his ship and find safety from storms. He had not known that he was searching for that land or even that it could exist for him.

"I am glad to know you," he said softly. "I do not think I could have come this far without you, Arya."

She smiled slightly and shook her head. Her hair caught the starlight and glittered, "I am sure you would have. You have Saphira, Brom, Zoe and many others. I have not been there for you all the time."

How did happen?

He wasn't sure. It was like a dream – a beautiful and wonderful dream. He would remember it clearly, those few moments when their lips gently brushed and the moon shone down on them as a gentle breeze caressed their faces. It was his first plunge into those mysterious feelings, his first attempt and he would never forget. So far from all the things that both of them knew and the roles they were familiar with, they both did something they had never thought they would ever do.

It wasn't intentional.

When they pulled back, nearly nose to nose with each other, Eragon found he could not pull his gaze away from hers. They were both staring at each other, not sure how it had happened but not able to say anything lest they break the still magic and wonder of it all. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped. Just the two of them in this darkened landscape. He suddenly wondered if this was how it was for his half-brother when he kissed Zoe. Did he also feel as if a whole new world had suddenly opened up beneath his feet?

It was as if he suddenly found himself falling, not sure how he began to fall or why but only that he was not frightened of it. The feeling was exhilarating, soothing in a way that made him feel wondrously light. He had nothing to say to her and she had nothing to say to him. The moment had been so brief, their lips barely brushing, but it had happened and it sent waves of wonder, of surprise, through him. The Rider felt as if he was going to drown in her startling green eyes and suddenly so reachable.

There were so many words in that kiss, so many feelings and so many thoughts.

The moment was broken a second later.

Arya suddenly turned her head away, making as if to stand and then stopping in a half crouch, arms outstretched for balance, her expression alert. Eragon felt it as well: the air prickled and hummed, as if a bolt of lightning were about to strike. He tensed, the magical moment broken.

"What is it?" he asked. He could not suppress the wave of sadness washing over him at the sudden interruption.

"We are being watched. Whatever happens, don't use magic or you may get us killed."

"Who—"

"Shh..."

In the distance, a cluster of glowing multicolored lights appeared. They darted toward the camp, flying low over the grass. As they drew near, he saw that the lights were constantly changing in size—ranging from an orb no larger than a pearl to one several feet in diameter—and that their colors also varied, cycling through every hue in the rainbow. A crackling nimbus surrounded each orb, a halo of liquid tendrils that whipped and lashed, as if hungry to entangle something in their grasp. The lights moved so fast, he could not determine exactly how many there were, but he guessed it was about two dozen.

The lights hurtled into the camp and formed a whirling wall around him and Arya. The speed with which they spun, combined with the barrage of pulsing colors, made Eragon dizzy. He put a hand on the ground to steady himself. The humming was so loud now, his teeth vibrated against one another. He tasted metal, and his hair stood on end. Arya's did the same, despite its additional length, and when he glanced at her, he found the sight so amusing that he had to resist the urge to laugh.

"What do they want?" asked Eragon, but she did not answer.

A single orb detached itself from the wall and hung before Arya at eye level. It shrank and expanded like a throbbing heart, alternating between royal blue and emerald green, with occasional flashes of red. One of its tendrils caught hold of a strand of Arya's hair. There was a sharp _pop, _and for an instant, the strand shone like a fragment of the sun, then it vanished. The smell of burnt hair drifted toward Eragon.

Arya did not flinch or otherwise betray alarm. Her face calm, she lifted an arm and, before Eragon could leap forward and stop her, laid her hand upon the lambent orb. The orb turned gold and white, and it swelled until it was over three feet across. Arya closed her eyes and tilted her head back, radiant joy suffusing her features. Her lips moved, but whatever she said, Eragon could not hear. When she finished, the orb flushed blood-red and then in quick succession shifted from red to green to purple to a ruddy orange to a blue so bright he had to avert his gaze and then to pure black fringed with a corona of twisting white tendrils, like the sun during an eclipse. Its appearance ceased to fluctuate then, as if only the absence of color could adequately convey its mood.

Drifting away from Arya, it approached Eragon, a hole in the fabric of the world, encircled by a crown of flames. It hovered in front of him, humming with such intensity, his eyes watered. His tongue seemed plated with copper, his skin crawled, and short filaments of electricity danced on the tips of his fingers.

Somewhat frightened, he wondered whether he should touch the orb as Arya had. He looked at her for advice. She nodded and gestured for him to proceed.

He extended his right hand toward the void that was the orb. To his surprise, he encountered resistance.

The orb was incorporeal, but it pushed against his hand the way a swift stream of water might. The closer he got, the harder it pushed. With an effort, he reached across the last few inches and came into contact with the center of the creature's being.

Bluish rays shot out from between Eragon's palm and the surface of the orb, a dazzling, fanlike display that overwhelmed the light from the other orbs and bleached everything a pale blue white. Eragon shouted with pain as the rays stabbed at his eyes, and he ducked his head, squinting. Then something moved inside the orb, like a sleeping dragon uncoiling, and a _presence_ entered his mind, brushing aside his defenses as if they were dry leaves in an autumn storm. He gasped. Transcendent joy filled him; whatever the orb was, it seemed to be composed of distilled happiness. It enjoyed being alive, and everything around it pleased it to a greater or lesser degree. Eragon would have wept with sheer gladness, but he no longer had control of his body. The creature held him in place, the shimmering rays still blazing from underneath his hand while it flitted through his bones and muscles, lingering at the sites where he had been injured, and then returned to his mind. Euphoric as Eragon was, the creature's presence was so strange and so unearthly, he wanted to flee from it, but inside his consciousness, there was nowhere to hide. He had to remain in intimate contact with the fiery soul of the creature while it scoured his memories, dashing from one to the next with the speed of an elvish arrow. He wondered how it could comprehend so much information so quickly. While it searched, he tried to probe the orb's mind in return, to learn what he could about its nature and its origins, but it defied his attempts to understand it.

The few impressions he gleaned were so different from those he had found in the minds of other beings, they were incomprehensible.

After a final, nearly instantaneous circuit through his body, the creature withdrew. The contact between them broke like a twisted cable under too much tension. The panoply of rays outlining Eragon's hand faded into oblivion, leaving behind lurid pink afterimages streaked across his field of vision.

Again changing colors, the orb in front of Eragon shrank to the size of an apple and rejoined its companions in the swirling vortex of light that encircled him and Arya. The humming increased to an almost unbearable pitch, and then the vortex exploded outward as the blazing orbs scattered in every direction. They regrouped a hundred feet or so from the dim camp, tumbling over each other like wrestling kittens, then raced off to the south and disappeared, as if they had never existed in the first place. The wind subsided to a gentle breeze.

Eragon fell to his knees, arm outstretched toward where the orbs had gone, feeling empty without the bliss they had given him. "What," he asked, and then had to cough and start over again, his throat was so dry. "What are they?"

"Spirits," said Arya and her eyes seemed to sparkle with magic.

"They didn't look like the ones that came out of Durza when I killed him."

"Spirits can assume many different guises, dictated by their whim."

Cold, Eragon pulled his sleeves down over his hands and crossed his arms. "What was it you said to the spirit?"

"It was curious why we had been using magic; that was what brought us to their attention. I explained, and I also explained that you were the one who freed the spirits trapped inside of Durza. That seemed to please them a great deal." Silence crept between them, and then she sidled toward the lily and touched it again. "Oh!" she said. "They were indeed grateful."

Coming closer, he looked down and, in the glowing light of the fire, he saw that the leaf and stem of the lily was solid, living gold. It reminded him of the myth that Zoe had once told him of the King who asked a god to give him the power to transform anything he touched into gold. The gift had been more of a curse, but it came to mind now as he examined the flower before him.

"It is perfect," he whispered.

"And it is alive," she said with a faint smile. "I wonder if this flower will produce seeds that are fertile."

"The golden lilies," he said as he examined the flower and gently stroked one of the soft petals. "I should place some sort of protection upon it," he said. "I would not want every fortune hunter in the land descending upon this place."

"I do not think they will be so easy to destroy, but only time will tell for sure."

Eragon laughed a little, "To gild the lily…and that is what the spirits actually did! They gilded the lily!"

Arya smiled slightly. "It is amusing," she said. "But the hour is late and we have talked longer then we should have."

He smiled at her and nodded. He did not, suddenly, mind that the moment between them had been broken or that she did not seem willing to acknowledge it. They had time - both of them would have other times in which they could face this. Her wounds were raw and his feelings to complicated, his experience in such matters non-existent, and he did not want to make a mistake. With Arya, he already knew, the margin for error was slight.

Time would be his friend in this matter.

So, as he stretched himself out by the dying fire, he imagined not the battles before him or the training, but moments such as this. His dreams that night were not as troubled as they had been and, when he woke at the break of dawn, he could not remember them at all except for a small bubble of happiness inside of him.

Despite the hard ground, the prospect of more running and the dark things ahead, he could not forget that night. For some reason, the next morning, when they set out he felt as if he was running on air.

* * *

><p>"Why did you do that?" asked Murtagh as we stood together beside the river in a sheltered clearing. Thorn was with Saphira and would be quite safe and content for the time that his Rider needed to be absent so that we could have this conversation away from the camp and any listening ears either round or pointy.<p>

"Isn't it obvious?" I sank down onto a fallen trunk of an old poplar tree and watched the river move along. Part of me wanted to fall into it, let it sweep me away and out to sea where I could be free of this world of politics, old blood and magic upon magic. What would I see if I let the water take me, rock me and slowly carry me away? The worlds of the river bank, the towns, the quiet stands of trees and deep valleys carved by the moving, shaping water?

"No."

I stared at him shock. "Really? It isn't obvious?"

"Should it be?"

"Yes," I said with exasperation. Sometimes he could be so blind, so cruel to himself and so demanding as if he was a person who deserved no sympathy or understanding. "It should be. Why do you think I did it?"

"Because I am a Rider and need to go to Du Weldenvarden," he said it as if the story was that simple and, while he might not like it, it was the unfortunate truth. He said it as if it had never occurred to him that there might be far more to it. As if the insult dealt to him by the elves did not affect more than just that – far more.

"You are acting like Eragon when he was fresh-faced village boy," I said with a shake of my head as I looked back out over the river. "I can't believe you are being so blind to it all." I flicked my eyes to him and saw an expression of puzzlement and faint amusement cross its tired features.

"Can you explain?" He sat down beside me and we faced each other, looking deeply into one another's eyes.

I sighed wearily and, in no mood for another argument, asked quietly, "Will you promise not to argue? Just listen and accept what I am saying as true?"

He looked at me for a moment and then nodded, "Yes."

"Then, if for no other reason, I argued with them because of your actions are true and have taken us all one step closer to victory." I traced the bark beneath my fingers, wondering at its roughness and letting it ground me to the real world. Above me the sky was bright blue, an afternoon sky, dotted with fluffy clouds. "But there was another reason to."

"What reason?"

I raised my eyes and met his. I could no longer restrain a tear that tracked slowly down my cheek, "Because I love you. Because such cruel and unjust actions hurt me just as they hurt you."

"You love me?" he asked and it made me roll my eyes.

"Haven't we said it enough?" I asked with open amusement and I was glad that only one tear found its way down my cheek and not the full flood I struggled to hold back. "I would have thought that you would understand that, when someone loves you, they want to protect you and defend you."

"I've never had someone like you," he murmured. "And now it seems I am surrounded by those who would leap to defend me."

I smiled sadly, "And what is wrong with that? There are times when we all need defending."

"When did you get so wise?" he asked with a faint smirk. "Traveling from Dras'Leona to Gil'ead when I wasn't staring at you? Or in Du Weldenvarden when I wasn't there?"

I laughed, "I never got wise – I am not wise. I only seek to tell the truth, only the truth, for I am sick of the masks and the lies. If that is wisdom then I did not mean it to be. They are only words that seek to explain what my heart says."

Around us the trees whispered, the river gurgled on and the sky stretched above us endless in its blue dome. I looked into Murtagh's face and tried to memorize it. His eyes, unguarded, looking into mine with open trust and love while his hands firmly gripped mine as if to keep me grounded, to keep me from flying off into the blue sky. How deeply, terribly ironic – how ironic that he thinks to keep me grounded when it will be him launching off into the blue yonder on a red dragon so very soon. But I will remember these moments, these quiet moments when it was only us. I would remember them, treasure them and hold onto them as he spread his wings and took off into the dark storm – away from me and the road I had been placed upon that he could not follow me down.

Hadn't that been my choice? Hadn't that been what I knew would happen when I was in Farthen Dur and reciting to myself, over and over, that love only destroyed? When I was still so blind, falling head over heels in love and in complete denial about what I had to do with Ajihad?

I hoped Thorn would realize how fragile Murtagh was and give him strength. I hoped Thorn would see the cracks and shattered edges that were Murtagh's life – all those things that had slowly worn him down until he could not see how much he meant to so many people. Would Thorn tell him these things? Would that little dragon-ling that was still learning how to organize its floppy wings be able to do that? I suppose, in the end, that it would and it would do far more than I ever could.

"What waits for me in Du Weldenvarden?" He was nervous – for good reason – and he suddenly looked young, in need of comfort, and it made me feel even sadder than before. More elves he asked silently? More rejection, hate and hostility?

"Someone very wise and kind," I said with a faint smile as I thought back to that understand soul who had offered me friendship and trust freely. "Someone who could not care less who your father is or where you come from, but only what you accomplish in your training and how true you are to this cause."

_Someone who made me feel welcomed during my time in that enchanted place – a person who never cared about who I was or what I had done. They will be eager to meet you, to guide you and give you the tools to be the Rider you must be. In their sanctuary you will discover what it means to be the Rider of Thorn. _

"And I will see you again?"

"Do you need to ask?" I said with a sly smirk as if we were playing a game of cat and mouse – as if we were young lovers in a city square on Erath and no, in reality, only a few hundred meters from an army camp.

"Yes," he whispered and drew me close. "I need to ask and hear it again and again and again until this is all over and I do not need to ask ever again. I would give anything for you to stay…"

"Keep asking," I said as I gently kissed him and silenced him before he could speak of something I already knew was inevitable. "And I will keep saying yes…"

"I was enchanted," he whispered. "I was enchanted from the moment I first saw you, but I didn't know. I didn't really know until…"

"I am sorry," I whisper. The wind blows some of my hair across my face and, it strikes me then, that everything is so quiet and peaceful around us despite the turmoil between this boy and I.

"Please," Murtagh said into my hair, refusing to let me go, his fingers holding mine tightly. "Please don't leave me."

"One day I will have to," I remind him gently. "Not now, but one day and I have no choice in the matter." I look up at him, lifting a hand to stoke his cheek. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Believe," I say and my voice broke despite my best attempts to hold it steady.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Happy Holidays everyone :) hope you all enjoy your winter break! Hope people don't mind the sudden speed up in the E an A romance but I really couldn't resist. I suppose the holiday festive season has gotten to me oh and the mistletoe hanging in my school's study hall ;)<strong>_

_** also: look for more Thorn and maybe some Saphira! **_

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Elemental Dragon slayer: Thank you! I am glad you like those edits :) Hope you enjoy this one and happy holidays to you! _**

**_live laugh play music: I sort of skipped that...I guess I just assumed that because they had used swords I didn't need that bit. Huh I guess that was a flub on my part - sorry about that. Glad you like the Roran bit! :) happy holidays and thank you!_**

**_General TheDyingTitan: Thank you! Happy holidays!_**

**_Nimtheriel: I promise - more THORN! I do I really do! Hope you like my Arya/Eragon scene...no I didn't do an Arya POV because I really wasn't sure how to tackle that. I will probably do that next chapter. haha I wish Zoe could have popped into existence and done that to but sadly no :( I love the idea of the Overnight Dragon Express - better than Santa Claus! lol I have no idea what happens to my elvish names sometimes. I write all my rough drafts on a Ipad and then post from a real computer...I will have to check into my 'r' problem I think. Sorry about that and thank you for pointing it out! Oh and I am sure that is how Paolini got the name! Happy holidays!_**

**_Ray: You don't babble! Thank you for the review :) yes there will be more shadow rider! also - I don't think it is at all nerdy ;) it is very fun to read and write these things...please share your ideas when we get closer to those events - I love to hear from readers and get some ideas going! I have some plans for the eldunari ;) and, of course, once more: thank you for the review! and have a wonderful holiday! I hope to post before the new year..._**

**_Guest: You got some E and A! Happy holiday! _**

**_Skoilr: Yes Roran is a bit weird to write - you aren't alone in that! I am glad you like the POV changes :) it is fun to write them! Yes...I can't wait for Thorn to hurry and grow to! I also am looking forward to the time Murtagh spends in Du Weldenvarden getting trained by the golden ones! Lots to look forward to and, of course, Happy holidays and good luck with your story! :) it is awesome to hear from you! _**

**_Chris: You write very funny reviews - I am not sure I could survive your Thanksgiving! It sounds like a crazy amount of fun! and far more exciting then any other celebration I have ever attended! Christmas is the best and probably my fav holiday :) keep hanging onto your seat and I am glad you liked the last chapter...I didn't so it is amusing to hear that other people did! Happy holidays and I hope you get to have a pile of fun ripping up wrapping paper (MY FAV part of the entire day) and eating too much! _**

**_kyky xx 123: So glad you like the long chapters...sometimes I think they get too long! Never know what might happen in this story! or what direction it might go in. Ah yes - she has read but over time certain details have begun to slip her mind. It has been a while since she has read the story and certain 'eldunari' might not want her remembering and telling everyone. SOOOOO yes she should know but it has been one of those things that has been conveniently swept into the back, if you get what I am saying. Totally PM me if you have any other questions :) Happy holidays! and I hope you like this chapter!_**


	72. Chapter 73

Oromis had once told him that where dragons hunt a dragon shall find.

The words had never seemed more appropriate then at that particular moment.

Saphira, her scales glittering like thousands of jewels, flared her wings and swooped down towards the two runners who had come to a stop to await her arrival. The midafternoon sun illuminating her and making her scales look like a thousand glittering jewels. As she spread her wings, as he met her gaze with his own, he lost himself in her warm love and joy at his return. She trumpeted her joy to the sky and released a glowing tongue of flame that washed over her scales and made her seem even brighter than before. He could imagine her, right then, as a falling star – a great sparkling jewel tumbling from the heavens.

As she came within reach of his thoughts, he was able to touch her mind again and, as he did so, he reveled in the feeling of relief that coursed through him at the welcoming feeling of her thoughts. The two of them smothering each other with memories, thoughts and emotions until Eragon was no longer aware of where he stood, only of Saphira and her presence.

He had missed her.

Without Saphira he had felt cut off, adrift in the world with no anchor and no compass to guide him back. With her so close once more, everything seemed right again and he could release his pain, his fear and anger. Without Saphira he did not know how to let it go, without her he felt the weight of the world heavy across his shoulders and he knew not how to rid himself of it. Only she seemed to know how to free him.

_I missed you, _he said but the words were not enough for, after all, how could mere words capture the depth of his emotions right then?

_And I you, little one_. Then she sent him an image of the soldiers he and Arya had fought and said, _Without fail, every time I leave you, you get yourself in trouble._

_Be fair: I've gotten into plenty of trouble when I am with you. It's not something that just_ _happens when I'm alone. We seem to be lodestones for unexpected events. _

_No, you are a lodestone for unexpected events, _she sniffed. _Nothing out of the ordinary ever occurs_ _to me when I'm by myself. But you attract duels, ambushes, immortal enemies, obscure creatures_ _such as the Ra'zac, long-lost family members, and mysterious acts of magic as if they were_ _starving weasels and you were a rabbit that wandered into their den. _

_What about the time you spent as Galbatorix's possession? Was that an ordinary event? _

_I had not hatched yet, _she said. _You cannot count that. The difference between you and me is that_ _things happen_ to _you, whereas_ I _cause things to happen_.

He laughed at her. _Oh really? You cannot say I didn't seize the initiative with Sloan. _

He sensed her disgruntlement at that and it made me smile slightly. _We will have to talk about that, little Rider. And about Arya. _

He raised an eyebrow at her last words, but chose not comment on them. _How is the new hatchling?_

_Growing, _she replied. _There is much to speak of with Zoe, Murtagh, Brom and Nasuada. _

Eragon merely nodded. Such a conversation could not be held now and he would save his questions for later. Instead he moved forward and rubbed her eye ridges as she hummed in happiness. He was aware of nothing else but Saphira for a few moments, oblivious to all around him.

An amused voice came from behind him and, with a start, he suddenly remembered Arya with a start and jolt of emotion he could not quite place but Saphira seemed to find amusing. "I had hoped we could enter the camp without attracting undue attention," Arya said. "But I suppose I should have realized we could not be unobtrusive with Saphira around. A dragon is hard to ignore."

_I heard that, _said Saphira as she turned her giant head to gaze at the elf. _I can be stealthy if I want_. Then she cocked her head and blinked, the tip of her tail whipping from side to side. _But I don't want to be stealthy today! Today I am a_ _dragon, not a frightened pigeon trying to avoid being seen by a hunting falcon_.

_When are you not a dragon? _asked Eragon as he openly laughed at her words.

"Greetings, Saphira," said Arya, and twisted her hand over her chest in the elves' gesture of respect. "I am glad to see you again."

Crouching low and bending her long neck, Saphira touched Arya upon the brow with the tip of her snout, and said, _Greetings, älfa-kona. Welcome, and_ _may the wind rise under your wings_.

She spoke to Arya with the same tone of affection that, until then, she had reserved for Eragon, as if she now considered Arya part of their small family and worthy of the same regard and intimacy as they shared. Her gesture surprised Eragon, but he could not help but approve of her actions. Saphira continued speaking: _I am grateful to you for helping Eragon to return_ _without harm. If he had been captured, I do not know what I would have done! _

"Your gratitude means much to me," said Arya, and bowed. "As for what you would have done if Galbatorix had seized Eragon, why, you would have rescued him, and I would have accompanied you, even if it was to Urû'baen itself."

_Yes, I like to think I would have rescued you, Eragon, _said Saphira, turning her neck to look at him, _but I worry that I would have surrendered to the Empire in order to save you, no matter the_ _consequences for Alagaësia_ . Then she shook her head and kneaded the soil with her claws. _Ah, these_ _are pointless meanderings. You are here and safe, and that is the true shape of the world. To while_ _away the day contemplating evils that might have been is to poison the happiness we already have. _

"Perhaps we should go?" said Eragon as he glanced towards the spread of grey Varden tents that lay a few short miles away.

_I shall carry you both! _

Arya looked ready to protest, but Eragon gave her no chance to voice any of her concerns. Grabbing her hand he gently tugged her forward before letting go and, as light as a feather, he leaped from her left foreleg to her shoulder and thence to the hollow at the base of her neck that was his usual seat. Arya, after another moment of hesitation, followed suite and settled in behind Eragon.

Settling into place, he put his hands on either side of her warm neck, feeling the rise and fall of her banded muscles as she breathed. He smiled again, with a profound sense of contentment. _This is where I_ _belong, here with you_. His legs vibrated as Saphira hummed with satisfaction, her deep rumbling following a strange, subtle melody he did not recognize.

In a surge of power, the dragoness leaped into the air. Her flight was slow for neither she nor Eragon was anxious to descend into the noise and chaos that were sure to assault them the second it became known that Eragon had returned. Behind him, her hands gripping his sword belt was Arya. Her close proximity made the young Rider feel different, light again and he suddenly realized that he had felt that way for most of day. He felt light, like he did when Saphira rushed off the ground and he was weightless, caught in the upward swing of movement.

As Saphira slowly winged her way towards the mass of grey tents, Eragon asked her after his cousin and then about the others, but Saphira had little to say about any of them. Her entire attention had been fixed on Thorn and Eragon's return. She knew Roran but a little and Katrina only through stories, a few words spoken on the flight back to the Varden and, because of this, she had not made any special effort to seek them out. Eragon did not blame her for not trying to find them. Even he was unsure how he would go about seeking out those from Carvahall after all the events that occurred between the present and that far distant past. The few meetings between them had been awkward and unsettling for Eragon.

Spreading her wings, Saphira landed on an open bit of ground that had been set aside for her use. Already a large throng of men had congregated a safe distance away and, as soon as Saphira landed, a cacophony of high, excited voices rose in greeting. The sudden onslaught of unguarded thoughts and emotions, the confused motion of flailing arms and prancing horses, despite the distance that lay between them and Saphira, made Eragon wince.

"Close your mind," murmured Arya in his ear. "You have been in the wild too long."

"Apparently," he murmured back.

He retreated deep within himself, where the discordant mental chorus was no louder than the distant thunder of crashing waves. Even through the layers of barriers, he sensed the approach of twelve elves, running in formation from the other side of the camp, swift and lean as yellow-eyed mountain cats.

With a faint groan, Eragon combed his hair with his fingers and squared his shoulders. Why, he berated himself, couldn't he have done something about his appearance? He was quite aware that he was not only dusty but bloody and in sore need of a change of clothes. As he did his best to make himself even just a slight bit more presentable, he also tightened the armor around his consciousness so that no one but Saphira could hear his thoughts. The elves had come to protect him and Saphira, but ultimately their allegiance belonged to Queen Islanzadí. While he was grateful for their presence, and he doubted their inherent politeness would allow them to eavesdrop on him, he did not want to provide the queen of the elves with any opportunity to learn the secrets of the Varden, nor to gain a hold over him. If she could wrest him away from Nasuada, he knew she would. On the whole, the elves did not trust humans, not after Galbatorix's betrayal, and for that and other reasons, he was sure Islanzadí would prefer to have him and Saphira under her direct command.

He had not let Nasuada or Hrothgar take him under their wing. He would not let the calculating Queen of Du Weldenvarden do what they had been unable to accomplish.

Dismounting in a quick flurry of motion, he and Arya, with Saphira behind them, approached the twelve elves. They halted in front of the Rider, bowed and twisted their hands and, one by one, introduced themselves to Eragon with the initial phrase of the elves' traditional greeting, to which he replied with the appropriate lines. Then the lead elf, a tall, handsome male with glossy blue-black fur covering his entire body, proclaimed the purpose of their mission to everyone within earshot and formally asked Eragon and Saphira if the twelve might assume their duties. The Rider noted, with curiosity, that Saphira seemed quite disgruntled with the gathered elves and she made no effort to hide it in her response to their greetings. When he questioned her, she merely brushed it aside and told him she would leave it to others to explain.

"You may," said Eragon but he said it uneasily. It worried him that Saphira was angry with the spellweavers and, from Arya's expression, the dragon's coldness had not gone unnoticed by her and she had no idea what had caused it.

_You may, _said Saphira so shortly that it sounded more like a low growl.

Smoothly, unwilling to let the cold air linger between them, Eragon asked after the elves' journey and the state of Queen Islanzardi's army. He did it out of politeness but with genuine curiosity for he had felt cut off from the happenings of the world these last few days. After a few brief moments of conversation, Eragon and Saphira moved forwards and toward the crowd. Taking a steadying breath, the young Rider set his face in an easy smile that hid anything he was really feeling and prepared himself for what lay ahead.

When they arrived at the tents, the crowd swelled in size until half the Varden appeared to be gathered around Saphira. Eragon raised his hand in response as people shouted, "Argetlam!" and "Shadeslayer!" and he heard others say, "Where have you been, Shadeslayer? Tell us of your adventures!" A fair number referred to him as the Bane of the Ra'zac, which he found so immensely satisfying that he almost laughed out loud. People also shouted blessings upon his health and Saphira's too, and invitations to dine, and offers of gold and jewelry, and piteous requests for aid: would he please heal a son who had been born blind, or would he remove a growth that was killing a man's wife, or would he fix a horse's broken leg or repair a bent sword, for as the man bellowed, "It was my grandfather's!" Twice a woman's voice cried out, "Shadeslayer, will you marry me?" and while he looked, he was unable to identify the source.

Throughout the commotion, the twelve elves hovered close. However, despite being glad for their added protection, he was unwilling to put too much trust in them after Saphira's open anger and mistrust. He kept his own defenses up and watched as best he could as he always had. For, he reasoned, it would not be wise to rely too heavily on others when it came to Saphira and his safety.

Then to his delight, Roran shouldered his way out of the throng, Katrina beside him. He and Roran embraced, and Roran growled, "That was a fool thing to do, staying behind. I ought to knock your block off for abandoning us like that. Next time, give me advance warning before you traipse off on your own. It's getting to be a habit with you."

Eragon put a hand on Saphira's left foreleg and said, "I'm sorry I could not tell you beforehand that I planned to stay, but I did not realize it was necessary until the very last moment."

"And why was it exactly you remained in those foul caverns?"

"Because there was something I had to investigate."

When he failed to expand upon his answer, Roran's broad face hardened, and for a moment Eragon feared he would insist upon a more satisfactory explanation. He could not, he knew quite well, offer anything more to the young man before him right then. But then Roran said, "Well, what hope has an ordinary man like myself of understanding the whys and wherefores of a Dragon Rider, even if he is my cousin? All that matters is that you helped free Katrina and you are here now, safe and sound."

"Roran!" Katrina said to Roran,"leave him be for a moment!" After a brief pause, she hugged Eragon. "He is really very glad to see you, you know. He just has difficulty finding the words to say it."

With a sheepish grin, Roran shrugged. "She's right about me, as always." The two of them exchanged a loving glance that reminded Eragon sharply of the conversation between him and Arya the night before.

"I shall speak with you and the other villagers later," said Eragon with a quick smile as he forced those thoughts away. "There is much to say and this is not the place."

The two nodded and Eragon resumed walking toward Nasuada's red pavilion in the center of the encampment. In due time, they and the host of cheering Varden arrived at its threshold, where Nasuada stood waiting, King Orrin to her left and scores of nobles and other notables gathered behind a double row of guards on either side.

Zoe was there, clad in her familiar black and looking as regal as she always did these days. She was elegant and striking with Murtagh, looking seriously ahead, beside her. He wore gloves, Eragon noted, and the Rider could guess why. Brom was there, face fixed in its permanent scowl, but Eragon thought his father looked more relieved than annoyed. From the look on his father's face, he could already guess at the questioning that would come when Brom got him alone.

Nasuada was garbed in a green silk dress that shimmered in the sun, like the feathers on the breast of a hummingbird, in bright contrast to the sable shade of her skin. The sleeves of the dress ended in lace ruffs at her elbows. White linen bandages covered the rest of her arms to her narrow wrists – covering the deep gashes left by the Trial of the Long Knives. She was gazing at him, her eyes heavy upon him as if demanding answers right then and there.

Taking one last steadying breath, Eragon prepared himself for what lay ahead. There was much to decide, little time to do it and he was well aware of the fact that he had some explaining to do. Smoothing his face clear so that none of his apprehension showed, the Rider pretended he was in complete control of the situation. Which, he supposed with a faint flair of amusement, he was in a way. He was no one's puppet and his actions were his alone, not dictated by any ruler. With that thought in mind he moved forward with a more true sense of confidence.

He would explain what he could explain.

And they would have to accept.

* * *

><p>People think I don't mind crowds and attention.<p>

People used to think that I was a carbon copy of my mother so close was I in looks to her and I was an enchantress – a powerful one like all those who came from my mother's side of the family. However, unlike her, I was no lady and the bearing of a Queen did not come easily to me. It never would. I could never come close to mastering her easy grace, her regal bearing, her aura of peaceful control and I gave up trying a long time ago. I had decided if those skills would not come to be naturally then I would have to fake it until I made it. It was not because I could not do it, but because I did not like to be center stage. I prefer the darkened sides, the one who controlled the stage curtains, the lights and backgrounds.

Fake it till you make it.

It is, honestly, a good way to go. You will never ever been 100% ready no matter how many times you practice, take lessons, read informative books or get yourself all ready mentally. You just never will and so you have to fake it till you actually get to the end. It is like when I was a little girl and the ladies would coo over me and say 'How like her mother!' as they smiled knowingly down at me.

But they had been wrong.

I was not my mother. I would never even come close to being anything like her. So I raised my hand and followed the carefully laid out directives I had memorized long ago. As the Varden cheered around us – for us – and as they looked to me and to those of high command for strength and purpose, I raised my arm to acknowledge them. I smiled the glittering smile that fooled the world and I looked to you. Yes to you, reader. Because you understand – you are privy to my deepest secrets and thoughts – know me quite well by now.

Did they know? Did these cheering men and women and children know that I was so weak? I wonder, sometimes, at our ability to make those we hold high on pedestals seem fearless, perfect, graceful and things worthy of admiration. You know, I hope, that even those shining idols are not perfect golden statutes.

Nasuada made her eloquent speech about pretenders and arms. Then it was Eragon who spoke well, if slightly tensely, but it made all the men cheer anyways. The sound of their voices washed around me and I did my best to ignore it. I remained above it all, untouchable and unreachable. Until, quietly, a hand gently brushed mine. A familiar hand, a warm one, and turned my head ever so slightly to see Murtagh whose face was fixed forward in a serious frown. The small gesture made me feel a little better and I relaxed slightly from my hard, tense stance.

And then we were all ushered into the command tent, the men outside returning to their posts while we were called in to do the dangerous business of plan making and explaining. I hoped that Eragon had something to say for himself and that – weary and dust coated as he was – it would be a good explanation. Orrin was in a foul temper and Nasuada weary of answers that did little to give a concrete explanation. Brom and I had been doing that recently when it came to Thorn and the mysterious trunk. Eragon had done it in his brief meeting with the Lady through a scrying mirror.

Once we were all gathered in our various chairs and Saphira had stuck her head through the back of the tent. The tent was quite barren after the destruction Saphira had caused when she crawled into the pavilion to see Eragon in Nasuada's mirrors. Six of Nasuada's guards were present—two stationed by the entrance and four behind Nasuada. There were an alarmingly large number of nobles who had all come to be introduced to Eragon, offer congratulations and try their best to find out exactly what he had been up to. When all of the guests had conversed with the slightly overwhelmed looking Rider, Nasuada bade them take their leave.

As they filed out of the pavilion, she clapped her hands and the guards outside ushered in a second group and then, when the second group had finished their visitation with him, a third. Meanwhile, those of us who had to wait until the end of this endless procession, stood quietly by and tried not to show our utter boredom with the proceedings.

I will admit: he handled it well. One glance at the Rider told me he was not only footsore but in no mood to exchange meaningless pleasantries or try to remember the plethora of names, titles and words that were thrown at him by the coiffed and smiling guests. I suppose I could take some credit for his handling of the situation. It had been me who taught him what to say, how to soothe the egos of those who came to honor him or tried to flatter their way into his good will. It had been me who showed him ways to contain his frustration – to turn it into comments that meant one thing but sounded a far cry different. While I could do it and do it well, I was glad that, for once, I only had to stand quietly and blend into the tent. I was nothing more than another particularly skilled aide who could be easily ignored.

He was a Rider now, I suppose. Over time he had developed more skills then just ones meant for war. Perhaps he could not see it right then, blinded by memories and his sense of guilt, but he was much more than just another hired sword. I had met those kinds of people many times before and Eragon was not among their number.

When Saphira grew tired of it she swelled her chest and released a low, humming growl, so deep that it shook the mirror in its frame. The pavilion became as silent as a tomb. Her growl was not overtly threatening, but it captured everyone's attention and proclaimed her impatience with the proceedings. None of the guests were foolish enough to test her forbearance. With hurried excuses, they gathered their things and filed out of the pavilion, quickening their pace when Saphira tapped the tips of her claws against the ground.

Nasuada sighed as the entrance flap swung closed behind the last visitor. "Thank you, Saphira. I am sorry that I had to subject you to the misery of public presentation, Eragon, but as I am sure you are aware, you occupy an exalted position among the Varden, and I cannot keep you to myself anymore. You belong to the people now. They demand that you recognize them and that you give them what they consider their rightful share of your time. Neither you nor Orrin nor I can refuse the wishes of the crowd. Even Galbatorix in his dark seat of power at Urû'baen fears the fickle crowd, although he may deny it to everyone, including himself."

_Too right little lady of the Varden – you get a pat on the head for that comment. But do you even know the real truth of power? Can you be like my mother: regal and comforting all at once? A Queen in every sense of the word who smiles at the world as if she knows all its secrets? Because, if you want to win this blasted war, then you still have a little ways to go if you want to convey that kind of strength. I may be young, but I feel old next to you. _

With the guests departed, King Orrin abandoned the guise of royal decorum. His stern expression relaxed into one of more human relief, irritation, and ferocious curiosity. Rolling his shoulders beneath his stiff robes, he looked at Nasuada and said, "I do not think we require your Nighthawks to wait on us any longer."

"Agreed," said Nasuada with a quick clap of her hands, dismissing the six guards from the inside of the tent.

And so it began.

I did not let Orrin get his nose out of joint. I did not even let him get a toe under the door.

"Congratulations on your success," I said with a smile and such complete ease that the King of Suda had no choice but fall back in his chair with a huff.

Eragon looked at me with a quick question in his eyes before he suddenly realized why we were speaking so. "Indeed," he said with a smile of his own. "I was very fortunate." He turned to Murtagh, "I was able to gather a little information for you. Perhaps I could share it with you later? It is in regards to some troop movements and placements that, while I am sure you are already aware of them, you may find interesting."

"Any information is useful," said Murtagh. "I assume that is why you made a point of taking the long way around?"

Eragon smirked ever so slightly. "The long way around?"

"Enough of this," snapped Nasuada with a quick glare at the group of us. "Lay bare the facts of your trip, Eragon."

The young Rider turned to her and raised a single eyebrow. "Lay bare the facts? Forgive me, my lady, but I see little reason for that. I was confronted with a situation of which the details are private and it was no easy matter to resolve."

I have to give him credit: he was brave.

Nasuada looked ready to cook him alive and Orrin was practically smoking.

But Eragon just turned to me and Brom and said casually, "I assume that Saphira and I must take flight once more?"

"Yes," I said simply and then, before I could say any more, I was cut off by Nasuada.

"This speaks poorly on our friendship, Eragon, and even more poorly about our alliance." The Lady was staring at the young Rider who met her gaze evenly.

"I feel differently," said Eragon with a faint shrug. "I have demonstrated my loyalty and respect for the Varden and its allies many times, my lady. What occurred in Helgrind is of such a deeply personal nature that I cannot and will not share it for it has no meaning to the events around us. Did anything occur while I was gone that Saphira or Zoe or Brom were unable to assist you with?"

"No," said Orrin, "but what if we had need of you? What if you become so used to doing whatever you please that we have no way of directing you? You are so dangerous, Rider, that we must acknowledge that danger to your face and hope that you are one of the few people able to resist the intoxicating thrill of power."

"This conversation gets us nowhere," said Brom with a scowl. "And if there is nothing more important to discuss then possible destruction then we all have better things to be doing."

And then we were all quite effectively turned onto the most important matters of all. It was easy to decide that Murtagh would go with Eragon and Saphira to Du Weldenvarden. Even Orrin, wary of the plan, agreed it was necessary for Thorn to be far away from the spies of the Empire. The trunk would also go with them though, of course, neither Nasuada nor Orrin knew that and only Brom really had any idea of what was in said trunk. But there was one major sticking point: the coronation of the new dwarven king.

A representative needed to be there and, as Orrin pointed out in that annoyingly long-winded way of his, it should be me. I was the ambassador after all, but there was the issue of getting me there in time. Eragon could drop me close to one of the main tunnels and I could meet an escort there, but Saphira could not carry so many passengers. She might be able to carry three normally, but Thorn could not fly such a distance by himself and the little dragon-ling was growing quickly. I could ride but it would be a long ways.

The matter remained undecided upon when we dispersed. Logistics are always tricky and tempers were definitely short which made deciding anything of that nature rather difficult.

We may have supposedly dispersed to deal with our various duties or to ease the aches of travel, but that was not strictly accurate. At the rate things are going we are playing so many backstage games that even those involved in them will get confused. For Brom, Arya, Eragon, Murtagh, Saphira and I met again in my small tent where Thorn was waiting impatiently for his Rider and under strict orders not to go looking for him. I ignored the elves that lingered close by. I had ignored them studiously since the confrontation between us and they had not known quite how to take me since then. They knew how I felt about them and they did not seem to know how to rectify the coldness that lingered.

I knew.

It wasn't rocket science.

They just had to say 'sorry.'

But apologizing is hard and I am the first to admit it. However, let me just say, it is nice to be the one waiting for the apology rather than the one (or ones) who have to screw up their courage, stuff their pride and spit out the words.

However, let us forget about that for now, and focus on the meeting currently going on in my cramped little excuse for a tent. Saphira is curled up around it and Eragon is sitting on the ground with his eyes closed as he leans against the support pole. Murtagh is scratching his ruby red companion and his face is distant as if considering something very complex. Arya is looking perfect as she leans back in the only chair in the space – she someone manages to look perfect despite the dust on her clothes and the blood. It just isn't fair. Brom is scowling (of course) and sitting on my narrow camp bed. I am taking up the remaining square inch space and, because everyone else has claimed the only spots to sit, I am left standing and feeling like doing something even though I can't.

"Now," said Brom with a glare directed at his son who didn't see it because he was catching a few moments of rest. "Explain exactly what happened to you."

Eragon groaned but didn't open his eyes. "Why?"

Brom didn't say anything. No one said anything.

Eragon groaned again and opened his eyes before doing as was ordered. He spoke slowly, his eyes fixed on the back wall of the tent. I listened quietly and wondered at the small changes in the weave of fate. Sloan's fate had not been the one I knew, but I suppose Eragon was not the same either and his choices reflected that. When he got to the part when he met Arya after traveling alone from Helgrind, he stopped and silence descended on the tent. Not even Thorn made a sound as he leaned into Murtagh's fingers.

It was, in fact, Murtagh who spoke first and his words were so completely Murtagh that they made me want to laugh.

"You bloody, honorable idiot," snapped the young man as he glared at his half-brother. Thorn was looking rather confused at the sharp tone and leaned into Murtagh as if trying to soothe him.

"What?" asked Eragon as he turned his shocked eyes on Murtagh. "What did you call me?"

"A bloody honorable idiot," said Murtagh. "What were you thinking? Why didn't you just kill him and be done with it."

"My point exactly," said Arya in something could almost (not quite) be called a drawl. She was looking impossibly perfect and poor me felt like a hopeless wanna be next to her. Oh how lovely.

"It is done," I said with a quick glare around that no one seemed to take at all seriously. "Can we please move onto other things? Or must we linger over it all for another few hours and debate moral choices?"

Saphira and Eragon agreed with me, but apparently no one else did.

Of course we couldn't.

Of course Brom had to ask for the rest of the story and, from the faint color that rose in Eragon's cheeks, there was some things that he held back. I have told you before that I do not like to think of myself as a matchmaker and I do not, most definitely, want to go prying into someone's love life. However, if the slight stiffening of Arya's shoulders and Eragon's brief 'we spent last night together' – well it told me all I needed to know. From the faint glitter of amusement I sensed from Saphira, it also told her all she needed to know.

Good for them.

They needed each other.

And I hoped…well I hoped this would all start happening soon and that I wouldn't have to keep seeing Thorn and Murtagh and worry about them. I hoped that that we would start to pick up speed again and start careening down the road to whatever end awaited us.

Because – guess what? – I am getting sick of waiting for it.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen over the Varden's camp like a black blanket. Stars, while they glimmered brightly, seemed unusually far away to the elf. She stood alone in a small clearing of young trees beside the river that, just a few days ago, had been running murky red with blood. Her posture was tense, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon that was nothing more than a deep blue-black line. The land she looked over was enemy land and on it they would travel – sowing war wherever they went.<p>

She had come here to be alone. Her thoughts too restless and unsettled for dreaming that night and, while she would have appreciated the rest physically, she could not settle her mind. The clearing was far enough away from the Varden's camp that she did not fear being found but close enough she could be easily back before anyone knew she had left.

Not they would care.

She was Arya and the Varden had long ago resigned themselves to her seemingly eccentric habits. There were times when she had left very publically and not returned for a day or more. Those had been the times when Faolin or Glenwing had laughed at her and her impatience with the dwarves or men they dealt with.

Faolin…

He was the reason her thoughts were so troubled. Or at least he was a part of why she was troubled. She saw him in the stars, in the pattern of the swiftly flowing river and she felt his presence in her heart. Why could she not leave him behind? She had before. He had been left behind when she left Du Weldenvarden for the first time, left behind when she was captured by Durza and even temporarily left behind during the turmoil of Farthen Dur.

But he was back again.

Why had she kissed Eragon? Why had he kissed her? Since when did she allow herself such open expression of emotion? She had when it had been Faolin, but that had been a friendship – a love – cultivated by many years of knowing each other. In comparison she barely knew Eragon and in years he was nothing more than a child to her century of life. But that had been far from her mind when she kissed him the previous night. She hadn't been thinking of any of that when he leaned forward and she had leaned forward to. The quick brush of their lips hadn't been a moment of conflict for her, but a sweet moment of total relaxation and understanding.

It had felt right.

And that troubled her.

She had kissed Faolin before he had fallen in that small clearing to Urgal arrows but that had been different from this. With Faolin she had felt as if she had decades and decades of chances to get to know him and all the time in the world to share things with him. With Eragon it felt different. She felt as if they had only weeks to know each other and their chances at such intimate moments were so few they needed to be treasured like precious jewels. It was if they were heading towards a cliff and nothing she did could slow their approach – all she could do was live and live so wildly that it almost frightened her. From the way Eragon had reacted the previous night, he also felt the same and perhaps it was even more intense for him. She might bear many a responsibility but she did not also bear the hopes and dreams of thousands who went to war for her.

Arya sank down onto a fallen trunk and stared at the river before her with unseeing eyes. A slow tear tracked its way down her cheek. She felt as if the world was converging on her. Once she had bemoaned how slowly things seemed to pass and left Du Weldenvarden because she could not bear to sit idle anymore. She had spread her wings and set her sights on the mortal world where she had done her best to represent her people and set things in motion.

But now?

Now she felt as if everything was speeding forward and out of her control. She had realized when Faolin and Glenwing fell that nothing, no matter how powerful she was, could ever be in complete control and, in times like this, things were just as likely to go speeding towards disaster as they were to success. Arya raised her eyes and gazed up at the star-lit sky as if searching for answers but she couldn't see any – she never had. Some said that one could if one stared hard enough but she had never been able to.

A shadow crossed the sky – the shadow of a dragon. Saphira flying high. Arya gazed up at the flying dragon and felt a small smile grow upon her lips. No, things were never completely in control and especially when one was dealing with a creature as wise and as powerful as Saphira or even the swiftly growing Thorn.

The elf rose from the trunk and turned her feet towards the Varden's camp. She paused on the edge of the small stand of trees and whispered to the air:

"Goodbye…" and her words faded into the air like the notes of a long forgotten tune that no one cared to play again. She had found a new song and it thrummed inside of her, hot and quick like the fire of a dragon.

* * *

><p><em><strong>This has taken longer to post then I had thought it would - sorry about that. But my muse for this story has been severely lacking and I have been struggling to get inspired and actually write. So this chapter isn't much and it definitely isn't very exciting but it is something and will hopefully lead to more exciting things. I have lots of ideas for this story I just need to get past this and I am almost thinking of doing a time leap and one big summary. <strong>_

_**But HAPPY NEW YEAR! and I hope that 2014 brings plenty of fun and adventures and opportunities to you and yours. **_

_**Review Replies:**_

_**guitarmorseknopfler: I am glad you liked the A and E scene :) it was fun to write and I hope that their romance will be a little smoother and little more real then it was in the original. Hope you don't mind this filler/hurry-up-and-write-something chapter ;) thank you for reviewing! **_

_**crazyikleangel: awe thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy the story and I hope you also have a wonderful new year! Thank you for reviewing :)**_

_**Nimtheriel: Really? I am glad! haha my skill with romance? Well it wasn't something I concentrated on! Definitely an accident! lol and more Thorn...but I am thinking more of him when he is actually past the early few weeks. I have no idea how to write a baby dragon - Saphira is tricky enough. But I am thinking there will be some scenes with him, Oromis, Glaedr and Murtagh in Ellesmera. Thank you for reviewing and, while I know this chapter isn't very exciting, I hope you don't mind too much ;) **_

_**Ray: You will have to wait and see :) I will try to make it exciting - whatever does happen. I love hearing your thoughts and ideas - they give me inspiration which I have been sorely lacking these past weeks when it comes to Zoe. Thank you for all your help! and your support :)**_

_**kyky xx 123: I am glad you liked the A and E...what is it with Alagaesia couples and sounding like M and M's? Z and M and A and E and, for some strange reason, I think of candy or alcoholic beverages. I am not sure how much T and S (it happened again!) there will be in this story. I actually liked S and F more then any of the other pairings in this series. We will see - I don't make promises when it comes to romance as I wasn't even sure I would have any in this story. Hope you had a wonderful Christmas and happy new year! Thank you for reviewing :)**_

_**Chris: haha it is fun! ohhhh haha I think you have an amazing ability to make family holidays extremely fun and intense! Intense being the word...and I am so glad you liked the scene with E and A! haha and yes that would be a very interesting conversation and have a very interesting result! ;) thank you for reviewing and I hope you are enjoying your winter holidays! and happy reading/writing to you!**_

_**live laugh play music: haha love fan girl moments! :) thank you for reviewing!**_

_**Skoilr; Seriously dude you have some very awesome pictures for your story! and I am glad Zoe managed to help you snag a tootsie roll! That is just awesome! Hope you are enjoying your holidays and have had a wonderful start to the new year :) as always: thank you for the wonderful review!**_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer: I am sooo glad I didn't get flamed for doing that scene! and...well...Zoe has a bit of temper especially when people get feeling above themselves ;) thank you for the review and happy new year!**_


	73. Shatter

_Eomund turned on his heel and began another lap of the throne room. His face was set in a dark frown and his hands were clasped behind him. My younger brother wore a set of formal, elegant dark blue robes with silver embroidery on them and his sword, for once on a belt not worn until it cracked, was finely tooled. He looked the very picture of a brooding prince. The hair, swept across his forehead, and the circlet glimmering silver in the bright sunlight that streamed through the tall windows. As I said: a brooding prince. _

_I, meanwhile, nursing a broken arm and feeling very relaxed about the world, was sitting very un-princess like across my own throne. My eyes tracked my brother's progress from one end to another and tried, unsuccessfully, to summon the strength to say something to him. _

_Finally, with a shake of his head, Eomund said, "What were you thinking?"_

_I rolled my eyes. "When Eomund? Right now I am thinking about how irritating it is to watch you wear a track in the floor." _

_"You know when I mean!" snapped Eomund as he spun again and kept pacing with even more fury. "You know exactly what I am talking about." _

_"Really?" I drawled. "Why must we revisit this point of contention? It is getting tedious."_

_"You set me up," he said without even bothering to look at me. "You set me up, sister, and that was not fair!" _

_"Then," I said as I rose from my throne and swished the skirt of my dress out around me, "don't take so long about it. I wouldn't – and neither would others – have felt the need to interfere if the situation did not warrant it."_

_"I feel nothing for her," said Eomund in a voice only a fraction less angry as he stopped before me. "I feel nothing – do you hear, Zoe? I. Feel. Nothing. For. Her." _

_"Nothing?" I asked innocently. "Ah little brother, I think you feel a great deal more than nothing. That is a very vague statement and, not only do you know it is untrue, but so does she. Was it not a pleasant conversation?"_

_He glared at me. _

_"It was," I said with a faint, amused smile. "It was a pleasant conversation and she was practically glowing about it."_

_Patting his cheek with my good arm, I smiled, "You'll thank me one day, brother…"_

* * *

><p>I could spend the next few months going over every single thing that happened in those few busy days before Murtagh and Eragon left.<p>

But I shall not.

I shall give you the abridged version. It is not because I want to short change you but because I just don't want to and, in the end, I can't go over them. I felt like a stone statute during those days because stone statutes can't feel anything unless they are in a Shakespeare play and I did not want to feel anything at all. I was like a ship that was desperately trying to sail over turbulent waters and appear that nothing was wrong. I felt like an overstretched piece of rubber that was being pulled in too many ways.

And so I shall try to keep myself together for the long haul. I shall try to give you the facts and only the facts because they are real and they are trustworthy. This is a marathon and I shall have to last it out.

It began here…

I was walking back from delivering reports to a captain when he cornered me.

It was just after the meeting with Brom, Murtagh, Eragon, and Arya. The sun was slowly sinking towards the distant line of the horizon and I was feeling weary. It had been a long day and the next few promised to be a whirlwind that would even include some fighting – how depressing – and more meetings – how completely depressing. My life it seemed composed of depressing event after depressing event.

But then a voice called my name and I stopped to turn and see Roran walking towards me. He appeared rather nervous as if he was unsure that calling to me was a wise course of action. The area around us seemed rather deserted, most of the Varden at the cook tent for dinner or at their various watch stations.

"Roran," I greeted with a small smile. "Can I help you?"

"I…I was wondering if I could speak to you," said the young man and his gaze quickly dropped from mine. "I have something I would like to ask you."

I raised an eyebrow and, with a quick glance around, I focused on a command tent. It was one of five scattered around the camp that are used for meetings and as a basis for captains to discuss things with their men. At this time of day it was empty and would – if nothing else – have at least two folding chairs in it. I could not fathom why Roran wanted to talk with me, but I would not do him the disservice of refusing or be so rude.

"Come on," I said with a gesture. "Let's go in here."

Holding the flap open for him, I followed Roran into the cramped but very serviceable space of the tent. A table was on one side and a few chairs were scattered about. One chair was serving as a quiver holder with two fully stocked quivers hanging off of it and a few forgotten daggers cast down and - most likely - temporarily forgotten on its seat.

"Why did you want to see me?" I asked as we both sat down. Roran appeared even more tense and unsure to my eyes and, I'll admit, I was dying of curiosity to know what had him so wound up. It must be something if he came to me – a person he barely knew and who had not exactly been very friendly – with a matter. I had kept my distance from the cousin to my friend and our paths did not exactly cross very often. No, I was more than stunned by this meeting.

"Eragon spoke very fondly and highly of you," he said in a low voice. "He also said that, if I found myself confused by the Varden's politics, that I should come to you for advice. I would ask him, but he has just returned and I do not want to trouble him."

"Ah," I said with a nod and not letting on how deeply surprising I found it that Eragon would do such a thing. "So you have a question about the Varden? I hope I can be of assistance."

Roran turned his face so that his gaze was focused on the large map of the Empire that hung on one wall of the tent and I merely watched him. The map was dotted with bright tacks that symbolized important cities or towns that would need to be secured and many colored strings showed different paths that could be taken to those cities from our current position.

"I had a meeting with Nasuada," he began and then he paused briefly as if searching for the words. "And she seemed wary of me. Why would she be frightened of my influence?" Roran turned his questioning eyes to me, "Why would she worry about what I can accomplish when I am nothing more than Roran of Carvahall?"

I met his gaze and was silent for a long moment as I considered the best way to respond. "You cannot think any reasons why?" I asked gently.

"I can think of many reasons," he replied with a dark frown, "but none of them seem plausible. Brom never answers me in anything but riddles and you seemed the last person who might know and might give me a straight answer."

Roran was not Eragon. The Rider was a sensitive and inquisitive soil – a scholar who had come to war not by choice but because of duty. He was drawn to difficult, unanswerable questions. Roran, meanwhile, was the man of good sense in this play. He was almost like a Horatio to the Hamlet, if you will.

But I had a question to answer and I would try to go about it as straightforwardly as I could.

I sighed, "Roran….Roran…it is what is in you that Nasuada fears. It is something you don't even know you have and that is how it should be. It's in your heat." I leaned forward and gently pressed one hand on the young man's strong chest where his heart pounded strongly through his thin shirt and vest. I dropped my hand and met his intense stare that was like Eragon's but also not.

"You see what these men want and why they go to war. You see it more clearly than many ever could because those reasons are your own. You see what lies beyond this battle and it is more than politics that only kings have time for. You see a plot of land you can call your own and a family you can watch grow in peace. It is a simple thing, but more powerful than anything else could ever be. It is what many of these men - whether they are from the Varden or from Surda – see and dream of."

He looked ready to protest but I gave him no time. "It is who you are and what you are – in all your clear honesty – that makes you powerful and dangerous. I think that, if the need arose, you would make a very fine commander and Nasuada sees this. She sees how close you are to Eragon and how, if your cousin ever felt her leadership lacked and yours would be preferable…" I let my voice trail off suggestively. "Of course," I said with a shrug, "this is what I think and what I see. I have seen much but I have not seen it all. I could be mistaken but that is my reading of the situation."

"I…what should I do now?" he asked. "I do not want to lead and I do not want…"

I sighed, "Roran, whatever you do next must take into consideration your relationship to Eragon, your feelings toward the Varden and your dedication to our cause. I am of the opinion that Nasuada is being rather foolish with you and I think that your loyalty and dedication will eventually win her over." I shrugged, "Just be yourself and do what you can. In the end that is all any of us can do. The games we play or that are played around us should not and cannot take away the most important things about us."

He just nodded and I rose.

"It was a pleasure to speak with you," I said with a smile. "Please give my best to Katrina."

"I will," he said and his entire posture spoke of his unease in the situation.

"And try to keep your head straight," I said with a faint smile.

"What?" asked Roran.

"Head straight," I said with a growing smile as I found myself seeing, despite the many differences, something of Eragon in those eyes. "Don't get distracted by the little things or the petty games. You are meant for more, Roran of Carvahall. And, if I remember correctly, we are both required at a dinner I believe that is being hosted by your people. I would hate to miss it."

"I…I suppose…thank you for this."

And I left to go change into something more appropriate for the dinner that night. I was certain it would be, at least, entertaining to meet those I had heard about in Eragon's stories. However, beyond this night lay the great expanse of the future.

I seem to always be leaving to go deal with a world that had long ago spun out of my control.

Remember that spy? That spy Murtagh mentioned so casually and his warning about 'be ready for anything'? You see at the time we didn't know what to make of it, but it became quite apparent what he was trying to warn us about and it was cruel, vicious and utterly impossible for me to comprehend.

And then the next day rolled around and with it came a battle that would haunt my nightmares for a good long while. Perhaps you already know of it? The battle with the dead soldiers that had been animated by magic that sounded so terribly fascinating when you were sitting on that bed in that nice dorm room? Yes, that is the one I am talking about. The one that was meant to distract and dishearten the Varden more than actually defeat.

Of course – because that is apparently what I do these days – I was swept up in the fight. I was swept up in it and I was there, on the front line, fighting even though Murtagh hated it and wanted to be there even though he couldn't be. I was there by some fluke because I had been speaking sentry rotations with two captains when the group of 'laughing dead' was spotted. I was the one who sent orders out, had a runner go to Nasuada and another to Orrin. I was the one at the heart of the sudden vortex of motion.

It felt utterly wrong.

Killing these men who laughed as they died was so completely wrong that I wanted to be sick even as I fought. They laughed even as I cut them down and I wondered if they would rise again. Pity rose within me and so did fear. I knew Death. I had seen many fall and killed enough to know when Death will come – what it means to see Death. It could be a friend; a promise that awaited all of us and not always a bad thing.

To see it so cruelly twisted about was not only revolting but deeply upsetting. These men had already died and already lived, but they were summoned back to fight again. Had they not already sacrificed? This was not truly them but magic and it was magic that gave them strength. It was magic that made them smile those twisted smiles, gaze with unseeing and emotionless eyes and it was, in the end, Galbatorix's fault. It was the worst kind of magic and magic put to the wrong use.

I thought I hated the King.

I thought I knew what it meant to have a mortal enemy from past experiences. However, as I faced these resurrected warriors and twirled my blade in complicated arcs, I came to know what that mean even better than I had before. It is one thing when the atrocity was committed a hundred years before you arrive on the scene and, while you sympathize with those involved, it is never really your fight. You might hate the person responsible, but you do not really hate them until you come face to face, nose to nose, and heart to heart with something they have done. Something so wrong and horrible and destructive that you are left gasping with rage, pain and fear that make you, when finally the red clears from your gaze, hate the one responsible with a passion cold and clear.

That was how I felt now.

You see, reader, I am a very capable warrior. I can duel with the best of them and I am not the kind to cower when the arrows streak across the sky, the cannon fire starts and the spears get thrown. These 'zombies' or whatever you want to call them were not hard to defeat. I matched them blow for blow, strike for strike, and they did not last long before me. It is just that fighting them, raising my sword to duel them as if they were living and breathing men (like they had once been) was horribly unsettling.

When the fight was over, the injured helped away and I stood, surrounded by this unnatural carnage, I felt that hatred burn cold and fierce within me. Again, as I stood before Orrin and Nasuada, arguing over the best precautions to take against such creatures, I felt that rage and hatred. It ran through me and made my arguments even fiercer, my feelings about all of this boiling over. Orrin, for once in his life, was of the same feelings I was and both he and the other captains who participated in the meeting were, for once, completely on my side. When, directly after the meeting, Brom asked me if I was alright, I replied in a cold voice that I was just fine.

Fine. I was just fine.

Why do we lie?

Why the hell do we say things like 'fine' when we aren't 'fine'?

I know why I must do it.

I am a princess and if I burst into tears or showed any of that kind of weakness than others will see it and it makes them disheartened. So we must say we are 'fine' and we must never show those cracks in our façade until we are alone. Sometimes it feels like one line on top of another and another. It is our duty and our responsibility.

I pretended to be 'fine' right through everything that occurred later that day including Roran's wedding. You wouldn't have known how deeply troubled I was as I listened to Eragon administer over his cousin's wedding. I congratulated Katrina with a warm smile and, the only highlight of the day, was when I got to dance a few songs with Murtagh, one with Brom and another with Eragon. I loved to dance and I was very good at it after hours spent with books stacked on my head and a dancing teacher firmly correcting me until I could twirl across the floor as gracefully as a butterfly. For a few brief hours I was able to temporarily leave it behind and the pretending grew easier. For a few hours I donned a dress I borrowed from Nasuada and with it I donned a smile, a laugh and a carefree step that made me appear as light and happy as any one of the women in attendance. My mask, while firmly in place, did not seem so heavy then.

But the heaviness returned.

Later that night when I sat with Murtagh and Thorn, I dropped the pretense and cried into Murtagh's shoulder and he held me as he listened to my words. Because, for some reason, with Murtagh I did not need to lie or put on a mask for, with him, I could be myself and it was a relief. I could tell him the truth.

"How could he?" I demanded furiously even as tears streaked down my face and Thorn, mewling anxiously, butted his head against my hand. "How could he do that?"

"He is Galbatorix," replied Murtagh and he pulled me closer. His hand gently stroked my hair. The movement was soothing but not nearly soothing enough. "He does whatever he wants."

"Does he have a heart?" I cried as I pushed my face into Murtagh's shoulder and struggled to breathe against the lump in my throat. "Does he even care?"

"You know the answer," said Murtagh gently. "He didn't care when it was dragons at the end of his sword or innocent children. That is why we are here."

"I hate this," I sobbed into his shoulder. I was completely derailed, unable to see past the carnage that day and, while I needed to let it all go; the most important thing is not the telling but the pulling together afterwards. "Why? Why? Why?"

He pulled back and gently gripped my face between his calloused, scarred hands. His face was soft, his eyes gentle as he regarded me with complete understanding. It made me feel better. It made me feel safe and, most importantly of all, that I had been right to tell him. He understood. He knew who I was and knew what I had to do the next day: pretend this had not affected me at all.

"Zoe," he said gently, "you know all of this."

Murtagh gently began to stroke my hair and somehow, whether it was the repetitive action or his steady presence, I felt the knot inside me slowly start to loosen and I felt myself relax into his arms until, somehow, I fell asleep.

My dreams were dark and I woke in the early hours of the morning unable to find any more rest. Instead I spent the last few hours of darkness staring at the wall of my tent and watching battles play out across its rough surface. My heart was heavy and I thought many things that do not bear repeating even to someone as trustworthy as you.

The next day was not any easier than the previous one had been.

Because – guess who showed up – that blasted shadow dragon and his even more blasted shadow Rider and, this time, I did not get any help. This time I was on my own and, even worse, I had to work together with a bunch of elves who still didn't know how to talk to me. I was tied to them by an invisible web of mental links that would allow any one of us to contact another member of this web without having to search and waste previous moments.

The dragon and its Rider were spotted by sentries at 10 am that morning. I was with Eragon at the time, assisting him in readying supplies for the planned travel the next day. The Rider was set to leave with Murtagh, Thorn and Saphira at the dawn the next day. Murtagh would be dropped at the border of Du Weldenvarden where they would then continue on with an 'escort' – cough – you know who I mean who would be alerted to the presence of the new Rider and hatchling by Eragon once they were far enough inside the forest. Then the Rider and dragon would quickly turn about, make the relatively short flight back to the Beor Mountains, deal with the dwarves and then go back to Du Weldenvarden.

I know. It is complicated.

I, meanwhile, have espionage plans I shall inform you of later.

I shall inform you of them after we deal with this creation of the Kings. It was a familiar situation and, this time, I did not have a helpful voice telling me what to do nor any apparent way of dealing with the creature. It came with, of course, more of the laughing dead though not as many as the previous day. While Eragon and Saphira, surrounded by their elven watchers, prepared to leap into the air to fight the shadow Rider and dragon, I turned my attention to fight before me. Murtagh and Thorn were safely tucked away and Brom was with them just in case Murtagh required magical assistance. I can tell you that Murtagh was quite upset to be missing another fight – one that I was fighting in – and I half expected him to come running around a corner despite Brom's strict reminders he could not fight with Thorn so young and so badly in need of protection should things go ill.

Above me and the men I fought with, came the sounds of dragon roars as Saphira and the grey dragon clashed against each other. I caught sight of the elves, standing very still in the shadow of a tent, as they waited for the opportune moment to lend Eragon or Saphira some of their strength. Well I suppose I should be glad that they had the sense to hide from the gaze of the shadow dragon and it's Rider. I just found it very hard to appreciate them in the slightest. I am working on it, I promise, but I just do.

As I crossed blades with the first laughing dead soldier to break through the line of warriors before me, I sent my magic out. The laughing dead themselves were protected by wards and other such nonsense but their weapons were not. There weapons were quite ordinary. I had discovered this yesterday when I had fought them for the first time and, while it could not stop them, it did slow them down.

You see, reader, I play nasty right back when people are nasty with me.

I turned the metal of their swords into glass that, upon impact, shattered. The spell was not particularly hard for me or even that taxing. My magic is different from the magic wielded by the elves and Riders; I do not know how to explain it. Something about it, something about the language I use to give it shape and direction or maybe that I am an enchantress by birth…ah I do not know. Regardless, I was able to turn solid metal into glass without great difficulty and, without adequate weapons with which to kill us all, the laughing dead were at a distinct disadvantage. What was most troubling of all? They did not care whether their weapons shattered or not.

And then, just as things on the ground were starting to look up and we began to push the dead soldiers back, my world went upside down and around the other way.

Literally.

Some warning – some instinct – made me spin at the last possible second and I realized what was going to happen and it terrified me. But I had no time. I had no time to do anything but close my eyes and hope that it would all work out. A giant claw plucked me off the ground and soared up with me, still clutching my sword in a death grip, into the air. It didn't make sound like a normal creature would because it wasn't normal and so, preoccupied with the fight before me, I had not realized what was coming down upon me. I had not heard nor had I sensed it with my mind like I would have in any other more normal situation.

The shadow dragon – why it did this I still do not know – had swooped down in a brief pause between its furious fight with Saphira, decided I looked like the best possible pickings and plucked me off the ground. Did it know that I was someone of some importance to the blue dragon and Rider? Did it know that Saphira and Eragon would do anything to rescue me? I do not think it can 'think' but whatever creates it, feeds it, makes it react like a living creature must be able to think and think clearly enough to engage in normal battle tactics. Whatever the case, it did not keep carrying me, however, and before I had time to do anything or contact anyone with my mind, it let go.

It let go of me.

IT LET GO OF ME!

To all those crazy idiots who like to skydive: I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU DO IT.

I was tumbling through the air, spinning towards the ground as gravity took hold and began to speed me towards the ground at a velocity of 9.81 m/s. I was a couple hundred feet (maybe 200?) off the ground and - for those of you who do physics - you can figure out the amount of time I have left before I hit that solid ground. My scream was lost somewhere in the fall and there was no time for anything. I was going to hit that ground and there wouldn't be much left of me when that happened.

And then, like steel vice closing around my plummeting body, a giant claw plucked me out my downward freefall.

Saphira.

The dragoness soared upward with me clutched firmly in her claw. Suddenly I was going against gravity and it was all so sudden that I didn't fully realize it for a few seconds. One moment: plummeting to death. Next moment: soaring upwards in the claw of a dragon. It was a confused whirring of sky, ground, army tents, horrified faces, swords and clouds. I closed my eyes and gripped the hard scales of Saphira's claw and tried to ignore the rapidly forming bruises from where I had been so rudely tossed into the air and then caught again like softball. They hurt and quite a bit at that.

_Are you alright? _

Saphira's dragon voice rumbled through me and I responded as best I could, _Thanks to you. _

_How do we get rid of it? _

_I don't know, _I opened my eyes for a brief moment and then shut them again as Saphira rolled to the side to evade the shadow dragon. _I don't know how it is created – if it is the same as last time. There isn't any trunk to close that I know of this time. _

_At least it cannot attack mentally, _came Eragon's voice and then we did another spiraling turn that made my stomach lurch unpleasantly.

I forced myself to open my eyes and take in sight of the grey dragon and its hooded Rider. I didn't get much of a chance to look at him but I did get a brief glimpse and I realized two things at that exact moment: The Rider was wearing armor and, from what I could tell in that brief glimpse, it would be bulky enough to cover one of those round objects from the trunk. The second thing I realized was this dragon and Rider was neither as clear nor as detailed an illusion as the one before. This meant that there wasn't as much power being directed at creating and, even more importantly, at maintaining the illusion.

_Saphira!_ I felt a rising sense of excitement as I closed my eyes against the sight of the rapidly swinging blue sky and focused instead on my mental link to the dragon and, by extension, her Rider.

_What?_

_Can you get above the dragon? Then let me go and I will finish this business._

_Let you go? _Saphira sound incredulous and I could sense Eragon quickly mounting an argument.

_Let me go, _I told her again, _and then catch me when the time is right. _

_This isn't wise, _said the dragon in a voice that would have, in any other situation, booked no argument.

_It is the only way! _

The dragon growled in my mind and I knew that she would not let me go no matter what argument I raised or what I said. I was left with very few options and, despite the fear coursing through me, I was determined to act. So, as Saphira swopped upwards and the shadow dragon followed suit – at the moment when it was directly beneath me – I wriggled out of Saphira's claws and let go. Of course my actions made her furious and she tried to hold onto me, but she was just a little too late.

I was already gone.

Once more I was tumbling through the air and, with another bruising thump, hit the back of the shadow dragon. Luck was with me and I landed between the very large, very pointy spikes that ran along the dragon's back and not on one. Trying to secure myself, I desperately clutched at the spike in front of me to keep myself from falling off as the dragon soared. It was, without doubt, one of the most terrifying experiences that I had endured in Alagaesia. For, of course, the dragon was real enough to know I shouldn't be on its back and the complex array of acrobatics it launched itself into nearly shook me off at multiple points.

But slowly, inch by inch, I crawled myself forward from spike to spike and then, determination the only thing keeping me going, I drew my blood stained sword. The Rider, of course, wasn't quite quick enough to realize what was going on. It was a creation of magic and there is only so much magic can do sometimes and this creation was not nearly as powerful as it had been last time. The scales beneath my hands were cold and there was something insubstantial about them that made me incredibly nervous as if I was climbing thin ice.

I raised my sword and slashed the Rider across the back just as he turned his hooded, dark mask of a head to look at me. It was like looking into a blank void, nothing but shadow where there should have been, if nothing else, eyes. For a second I could do nothing but stare. My sword, cut through the armor that 'he' wore as if it were butter and I nearly screamed as the shadow dragon lurched sideways as Saphira struck its side. My free hand closed tightly around the spike before me and I raised my sword again to meet the first strike of the Rider.

It was not a particularly heavy blow at all and I blocked it easily enough despite the irregular movement of the dragon that threatened to shake me off.

I struck again, this time slicing through the oddly thin armor as if it were nothing more than paper. Perhaps it was really nothing more than paper for it was created by magic and the illusion of solid steel was clearly not real. But, those thoughts were hardly troubling me then for there it was! A heavy, padded bag that had to contain one or more of the round objects that I had seen in the trunk the day of the Battle of the Burning Plains. I slashed my sword once more, very quickly, and severed the cord that kept the bag hanging securely around the Rider's neck.

The bag slid down the Rider's neck and, blocking another strike from the Rider's sword, I leaned forward, grabbed it, and flung it towards the ground. I was stretched completely out, in the most vulnerable position and, with one hand holding my sword in a block which prevented the Rider from decapitating me and the other not holding onto anything at all…well I was not secured and could be thrown off as easily as a dog shakes water from its coat.

_Someone catch! _I screamed through the mental web that bound me with Arya, Eragon, Saphira and the elven spell casters.

And then…well then I found myself falling towards the ground with a sword in one hand. This would be the third time that day and this time it was because I had been too slow to grab anything with the dragon beneath me lurched sideways.

Before – like the first time - a claw plucked me out of the air. The tight grip around my body only served to worsen the many bruises that were rapidly forming across my body and making themselves known but adrenalin kept the pain at bay and I was more grateful to be caught then annoyed at the bruises.

_Never do that again! _Saphira snarled through my mind and I found myself quite glad I was not face to face with her and her many teeth.

_I had to! _

My defensive three-syllable line was hardly placating to the dragoness and she merely growled in response. However, as angry as Saphira might be with me, she could not deny that my fool-hardy plan had worked. It took a little while and little more wild flying, but it did work. Because, the elven spell caster who did catch the plummeting package was clever. They did not directly touch the package but slowed its descent until it stopped a good hundred feet off the ground and directly above their head. Then, moving quickly and going unnoticed by the majority of the Varden, the spell caster had gone to Brom, dropped the package from its place in the sky, and slipped it in with the rest of the carefully wrapped bundles. There was, apparently, a very hairy moment when the trunk was open and all that power had threatened to burst out, but it had worked out in the end. The second the bundle was locked away, the Shadow Rider and dragon vanished like mist in the morning sunlight.

Saphira was able to land then, setting me gently on the ground first before landing with Eragon. What followed next I shall tell you after a break. I need to get myself together for this next recount because it wasn't easy on me at all and the price of appearing in control and at ease was heavier than normal.

I'll tell the rest soon. I promise.

Just not right now. Soon…yes soon…but not now.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Like Zoe said: She will be back! and soon because I am not going to stop writing this story. I keep telling myself that ;) It doesn't help that, while I am struggling to motivate my muse, I am also studying and writing Departmental exams. To those who noticed the faint touch on 'Hamlet' that is because I have been memorizing soliloquies and reading Harold Bloom for the last few weeks to prepare. Also - physics! Another exam reference but I managed to keep calculus out of the story!...soooo all of this taken into consideration: story writing has been taking a backseat in favor of concentrating on school but, in my study breaks, I write. :) No POV changes in this one but it is sort of just trying to get me out of a rut and the next one should be a bit more interesting with my first attempt at Thorn :) <em>**

**_Hope you guys don't mind and enjoy the return of action/fighting and all the rest. Can I do a little bit of author jumping up and down? We are over 500 reviews! and it is all thanks to you guys! Wow...couldn't have brought this story so far without all the amazing support, comments and advice people have given me. Thank you so much - no really thank you very very much. Getting your reviews makes me smile...even in the midst of physics, calculus, Hamlet and death-on-toast-teachers. ;) Life saving I assure you! _**

**_Review Replies:_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: Yes...well I was trying to get at that with Arya. I may need to rewrite that bit one day. I agree it wasn't my best piece for her but I was trying to convey how starting to accept Eragon means leaving a great deal behind. She has to say 'good-bye' and do something risky especially if you consider the fact that elves must make decisions they can live with for hundreds if not thousands of years. It isn't accepting a new, faster paced lifetstyle exactly but she is taking a deep breath, waving goodbye and taking a plunge that she may regret for the rest of her immortal life. Thank you for reviewing! and I hope you have a lovely weekend!_**

**_LeahAmberely: Awe thank you! I hope you like this chapter to. _**

**_Chris: haha you poor thing! Hope your bruise is feeling okay! Not a lot of talking - more a lot of action in this chapter...keep sitting ON your chair (no bruising!) and thank you for being so understanding of the lack of inspiration :) This might be another FINALLY?! and I am so glad to get it posted! Happy reading and happy writing - hope your inspiration comes back from holidays! _**

**_live laugh play music: haha yes Eragon is getting a little rebellious! Oh and yes Murtagh IS going! Hope you don't mind the 'abridged' chapter that is this one and thank you so much for reviewing!_**

**_angelslaugh: Thank you! Hope you like this as well!_**

**_Nimtheriel: You are so nice to me! This is the action that is required so that this story doesn't get labeled as total fluff and cotton candy. I know...I loved the bloody honorable idiot to! Murtagh is just so much fun...and yes well Zoe can be a bit reluctant (shall we say) to embrace certain aspects of her character ;) match making being one of them! I love that by the way...giving love shape...oh wow that is awesome! haha I will think about that pairing! I promise...and there shall be fluff next chapter and some Thorn trying out his wings with Saphira watching! FLUFFFFYYYYY! lol ;) Thank you so much for this wonderful review!_**

**_Awesome707: Awesome! I am glad you love this story that much! Enjoy this chapter to..._**

**_Skoilr: How is your story going? So sorry I haven't had time to drop by! I hope to sometime tomorrow :) and a laptop! So much fun! Tablets are hard to write on! I am excited to see what happens next :)_**

**_crazyikleangel: I updated and, while it took me a while, at least it wasn't ages! Thank you :) you might just get a PM from me one of these days asking for inspiration or just running an idea past ;) oh and there will be E and A...never fear...I think I'm going soft with all this romance! lol have an awesome one and thank you so much :)_**

**_Ray: Feinster is coming! and espionage! Zoe and espionage I should say...and I'm working on Galby! It will be different I think because I agree it was rather anti-climatic after all the build up...and I agree about A and E. As for Eragon going to the dwarves...he has to because I want Zoe somewhere more exciting and I found the dwarf coronation as boring as dry toast. She is going to be fighting...underhand style and not looking pretty. Chain myself to the desk? Been that way for the last three weeks although, sadly, not writing for pleasure by reading and making endless amounts of notes! Studying such topics actually made it feel fun to write when I found the moment! So I wrote when I had the chance and that was often when I was chained to my desk! lol Thank you so much and have an awesome weekend!_**

**_kyky xx 123: haha I know! It drives me crazy every time I say A and E or M and Z...and you are so lovely to say that :) and I hope to have more Eomund to...I like him quite a bit and I think people would like to know more about Zoe's past than I have had a chance to include. Thank you for the review and I hope you like this chapter to! _**

**_booklover19: Not sure if you read the latest chapter post BUT if you do...I would love to PM you somehow...any chance you have an FF account so that could happen? If not then no worries - thank you for all the comments on my chapters...my many chapters! Have an awesome one and happy reading/writing/creating! :) _**


	74. Chapter 75

Evening came.

And when it came I shed my normal black gear and weapons for one of the soft elvish tunics and, with only my bow and horn, left the camp as discreetly as I could for the small stand of trees by the river. This camp would be pulled up soon, we would be moving on, and this would be the last night I could enjoy the quiet peace of this stand of trees. It soothed my heart which was troubled by the recent fights, the prospect of Murtagh's departure the following day and just what lay ahead.

I sat down on a fallen trunk and stared out at the river. I was bruised from head to toe from my acrobatics that day and the strap of my quiver hurt where it rested against my collarbone. However, I would not go anywhere unarmed in this world. Once – yes once – I had gone places unarmed and thought nothing of it. Those had been those strange twilight years that were fading from my grasp liked water in cupped hands. I could barely recall the feeling of being in a speeding car or the pressure of being the perfect all-star student…no those things were so distant and divorced from who I was now that it was impossible to recall them without feeling as if they were memories of someone else. They were a story that had once been told me and so strange that I had decided not to bother with it anymore. A life crafted for me out of magic, a brief interlude that felt like more a dream then places I had actually visited and things I had done.

I shifted slightly upon the log and watched the moonlight sparkle off the water.

What would my brother's do if they were here? What would my sister do?

We had been so close. The four of us, gifted in our own ways, assisting and compensating for each other's various shortcomings without really thinking about it. Pethred the confident leader, Eomund the watchful warrior and Lucia the glue that held us together, they had been there for me. I had things to offer – I shall not sell myself short – but I could not turn to them and speak of what was occurring around me and what should be done about it. I think anyone if they are close to someone will think of that person in trying times. It is what we humans do and friendships of that sort are things to be treasured.

I drew my horn out and fingered the object.

Only once had I had cause to blow it in this world but another memory was flickering across my vision as I gazed into the ruby eyes of the roaring creature…

_The sight of Annuvin, stronghold of the Death-Lord, sickened me with the chill of death that hung about it. It made my head spin and the shadows seemed to blind me. But I could not afford to think of that. Already we were caught up in the fight, the struggling shapes of men and Huntsmen, the clash of blades and shouted battle cries mixing with screams._

_And then some instinct drew my eyes up to see Eomund climbing one of the steep rocky cliffs that rose around the gate to Annuvin. As I blocked a blow to my side with the hilt of my sword I watched, to my horror, Eomund slip on his climb upwards and, somehow, he managed to catch himself…but no he hadn't! His foot twisted and I knew that my brother was going to fall and fall to his death._

_My hand found the horn without me really needing to think about it. I had no magic, no strength nor the time to spare for a spell that would stop my brother's fall, and so I called on my last resource: the horn…_

I shook my head clear of the image and focused once more on the peaceful river before me but another memory rose before my eyes…

_Warriors rode in the dusky twilight bearing torches, slowly circling the mound of the fallen Lord. My two brothers, grim faced and cold in their sorrow, stood beside me. I could feel the gaze of those mourners behind us and hear the occasional sob. Above us dark clouds gathered and grew heavy, already the burial mound's freshly turned earth was coated with frost. Soon there would be snow. My dress, fine and elegant it may be, was thin silk and I shivered. The air was cold with winter and with sorrow._

_As the last flame died I raised my voice, "Farewell, Rhun Son of Clador. You achieved much and your courage shall be remembered by all." My voice did not falter even though the will to continue speaking did,"But what you leave unfinished we shall do even if I must build it for you with my own hands."_

_"Farewell," called Eomund in a voice heavy with emotion. "Till the bright dawn when we meet again!"_

_Pethred echoed his words but his voice was even heavier and, when the time came to leave, he strode off away from everyone else. Eomund and I made no move to pursue him, both of us knowing it was best to leave him when he sought only his company…_

"Hello Murtagh," I said without turning my head. The memory slipped away and I smiled slightly as he sat down beside me.

"Why are you here?" he asked as he automatically wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me close.

"I am thinking," I said as I leaned into his embrace. "I am thinking of days long past and things left unfinished that wait for me."

"Ah," he said, "and you could only think out here?"

"It is a nice place to think," I replied simply. It was a nice place, much nicer than the inside of my tent which had, at one point, been Murtagh's until he took over mine with Thorn.

"I shall be doing quite a bit of thinking soon," said Murtagh with a small laugh, "and learning and gaining of wisdom."

I laughed a little at his words and recalled other words spoken to me by someone else long before I ever came to this grove of trees by a river in a world not my own. "Learning is not the same as wisdom, Murtagh."

"Who told you that?"

I fingered my horn that rested on my lap and looked out over the river, "A dear friend once told me that there are those who must first learn loss, despair, and grief. Some must walk that cruel and long road to wisdom. Those that make it to the end gain more than wisdom, however. As rough wool becomes cloth, and crude clay a vessel, so do they change and fashion wisdom for others, and what they give back is greater than what they won."

"Those are wise words." He laughed a little then but it was not a happy laugh but a sorrowful one, "Much I have come to understand but much remains hidden from my gaze. Is that my path, Zoe? Is that what I shall be?"

"I do not know," I said quietly. "They are only words."

"You are wise," said Murtagh as he turned my face slightly with one rough hand though the movement was gentle. The hands were rough from holding a sword, wielding a bow and saddling a war horse. Used to the rough and tumble of a hard knock life they might be but they were gentle when it counted; soft and comforting like the first breath of a spring after a cruel, cold winter.

"No," I said. "No. I am not wise."

"Yes," he said gently but firmly. "Yes you are wise. Its times like this that I know you're a Princess from another world…You seem to know things without knowing; as the heart itself knows how to beat." He was staring into my eyes as if searching for something as if I held the answers to the questions that haunted him. Perhaps, he seemed to be saying, perhaps you do hold those answers. "Somehow you found me even though I did not want to be reached."

I rose and walked to the edge of the river."We are all lost sometimes."

"You never told me what you were remembering," he said from behind me.

"The dark days," I told him with a shiver, "and there is enough darkness around me now without remembering but I cannot help myself." I turned back and met his gaze and said half to him and half to myself, "There is no turning back Murtagh."

"You will be here when I come back?"

"This is war," I told him and the grimness of it colored my voice a dark grey. "He wants to rule the world – to rule all the worlds. This will be war of a different kind to anything I've ever fought before…" my voice trailed off and left the brutal hard things unsaid for fear of tempting fate. Why speak of it? Why speak of death and betrayal and blood and flames in a peaceful clearing by a clear river? Why speak the cold truths of a world at war to the person you love and who you will not see for many weeks if at all? I know too much of war I think reader. I think we all know too much of it.

Why I ask you? Why?

"I'll be gone in the morning," he said softly.

I wish I had a token to give to him like the ladies back home would give to their knights. However, I had no colourful scarf or necklace or any other trinket that I could give him. I had nothing to give and this would be our last night together for a long, long time. There may have been promises and words inked across our hearts but there are times when one needs something real - something that can be pulled out, admired and conjures up images that will not come otherwise.

And then I suddenly realized I did have something. Brom had given it back to me when Eragon returned and it was back in its normal pocket. It had been with me through many trials but I did not really need it. This was a better use for it; perhaps it would light his path back to me.

"Murtagh," I said with a shaky smile and I hated that my smile was shaky at all. "Take this."

He looked at me and down at the stone in my palm and he opened his mouth, a protest already rising to his lips. He knew what it was and he knew what it meant to me. It was not a weapon but a little light, a remnant of my childhood and carried through many a thing. No, it was a piece of fallen star and not something that was used to destroy. It was meant to drive away the shadows, not attack them. This was what gave you courage, clarity and hope then it was time to fight.

"No," I said, "take it." I pressed the stone into his hand and closed his fingers over the black rock. "It's a kind of keep sake," I said with a shaky smile. "Remember me when you are in Ellesmera…remember me by it."

He stood then and, with one hand tightly wrapped around the black stone, he embraced me tightly.

And we stood like that for a good long while. There would be a good-byes shared all round early tomorrow morning but this was our goodbye – it was better this way for both of us. Nothing was said. No more 'come-back' or 'be safe' or anything of the sort that just sounds empty in the face of what is actually happening. Some might roll their eyes and say 'this is just too much' but simple as it is - this silence - the simplicity of it was more comforting than a thousand words or promises.

For - I put it to you - what can be said when all else has been said?

* * *

><p>Thorn was nervous.<p>

Blue-kind-bright-Saphira was telling him how to manage it but she had little to say about the actual mechanics of taking to the air. She told him he knew how and he did. Somewhere, deep down, he knew exactly how to lift his wings and push off the ground but he had yet to spread his rapidly growing wings. Those instincts had told him who was his Rider the second he broke through his shell and those instincts warned him not to disobey his Rider and venture into the wide world that lay outside. Only here, a few miles from the smelly-two-legged-nesting-place, could he finally taste what it felt like to soar and glide like blue-kind-bright-Saphira did. The morning sun was just peaking over the horizon but, for the most part, it was still quite dark.

He was ready.

His Rider was here along with the other Rider who Thorn had not seen much of except when he came to see Thorn's Rider. The old-round-ear-human was there to and the pointy-ear-green-eyed-elf was standing close to blue-kind-bright-Saphira-Rider. The other round-eared-human who his Rider spent so much time with was also there. Thorn did not know what to make of her. He knew she meant a great deal to his Rider. Indeed the dragonling had often grown frustrated with the amount of time his Rider spent thinking of her. She had always been kind to him; he vaguely remembered her touch - the first living touch he had felt for a long time. He remembered her touch and he was intrigued by the faint haze of power that hung about her. It made his scales itch and it had made him stir in his cage-like egg when he first felt it. Besides, she brought him tasty things to eat and knew where to rub and, even more importantly, his Rider was protective of her and worried about her. He had been even more so that previous day when Thorn had smelt blood on the air and heard the distant sounds of dragon roars. His Rider had nearly ran out of the tent more than once and only the old-round-ear-human had stopped him. She must mean something - be something - and the dragonling was determined to find out one day.

But it was time to go up!

Up and up!

It was time to spread his rapidly growing wings and taste the thrill of flight. Blue-kind-bright-Saphira had told him of it - filled his dreams with it - and he was determined to finally try it for himself. He had seen precious little besides the inside of a tent and it had frustrated him to end. It was time to find out if he could be a worthy partner to his Rider and see if he could ever match up to blue-kind-bright-Saphira. Dragons, he knew, were meant to fly and he was a dragon with a Rider!

Following the slowly awakening instincts, Thorn spread his wings and pushed upwards as he set his gaze on the distant clouds. He pushed off hard and, finding an updraft, he found himself suddenly shooting into the sky. It was the most exhilarating feeling he had ever experienced in his short time upon this earth. He was weightless, shooting upwards and then balancing out to gaze down upon his Rider and the others. Blue-kind-bright-Saphira was up a moment later, helping him balance upon the currents of air and telling him he was doing well.

But Thorn was barely listening to her. He could feel his Rider's pride and joy through his link. Indeed, the young dragonling could never imagine setting foot upon the ground now that he had just tasted the joys of flight. He could never imagine trying to move upon that unyielding earth when he could swoop, soar and twirl in the air. Thorn had imagined many times how this might feel but now...now that he actually felt it he realized that his wildest of imaginings had not even come close to capturing it.

Blue-kind-bright-Saphira was beside him, urging him to turn himself back down towards the ground. She was telling him not to overdo it his first flight and Thorn could feel his Rider calling him back. His Rider was urging him to turn himself back towards the dull, boring ground where he stood and called for him. One day his Rider would not need to call him back to the ground. One day Thorn and his Rider would soar together and nothing would hold them back, not even the other-round-ear-human would keep his Rider down. When that time came Thorn would never have to return to the ground.

Landing was more difficult than take-off had been.

Thorn found retuning to the unyielding surface not only awkward but painful. The ground came up faster than he had thought it would and, one moment he was soaring downwards in the clear early morning, the next he was slamming into the ground. Desperately he stretched out his wings and righted himself as he did his best not to hit the ground nose first but his effort was only partially successful. Careening forward, Thorn forced the gathering that had come to watch him leap out of the way as he tumbled in a confused jumped of wings, spikes, claws and red scales.

At last, feeling battered and bruised, Thorn came to a sliding stop and turned his head to see everyone staring at him. His Rider was fluctuating between amused and horrified. With a chirped and a shake of his wings, Thorn bounded forward to press his head into his Rider's hand. The touch was warm and the hand knew just where to rub.

Blue-kind-bright-Saphira was telling him how to improve his landing next time but Thorn was not really listening. How could he listen to her after such an experience? He was still lost in thrill and, even as he allowed his Rider to stroke his battered wings, Thorn could barely restrain a bugle. It made him want to do something different and strange. He wanted to try, for the first time in his short life, what blue-kind-bright-Saphira did with her Rider.

_Murtagh, _he whispered through the connection that bound him to his Rider. The word was strange, so basic and restrictive but it seemed right at the same time. It was not as free as the emotions that the dragonling was used to sharing, the language that needed no words nor had need of them but he was not a wild dragon. He was a dragon with a Rider. _Murtagh. _Thorn could not stop the shiver that rolled through him and he felt the once sure hand press hard against his side, it was trembling faintly.

The answering reply was hesitant and strangely frightened: _Thorn?_

_Murtagh. _The dragon shook his head and hummed deep with his throat, _Murtagh. _

* * *

><p>Eragon stood beside Saphira and said his farewells to Arya and Brom.<p>

The sun had not yet risen but already they were ready to set off. Thorn had just taken his first flight and now stood beside Murtagh, his red scales glowing with happiness. Zoe was also there, pale and armed in the morning sunlight but if she was upset about what was occurring she did not show it. Instead her face was collected and her eyes as clear. Brom was also there and Arya, her eyes troubled, stood close to Saphira.

The past few days had been busy. The fights, the time he spent in the healing tents speaking with wounded men and easing their healing along with his cousin's marriage. Added to this already hectic time had been the meetings arranged to try and sort out just how to get Thorn to safety along with the pressing need for Eragon's presence in Farthen Dur. No, the Rider had barely had a moment to stop. He had been running from place to place, drawing a sword, smiling with joy as he watched his cousin finally get his just reward for all his sacrifices and, somewhere between all of this, holding the hand of a man who spoke of gods, stars and suns.

The Rider and dragon had already said farewell to Nasuada and Eragon had given his thanks to the elven spellcasters who had assisted them in slipping Thorn from the camp with no one being any the wiser. The spell casters were also going to maintain an illusion of Saphira and Eragon for a few days until the Varden was once more on the move. The illusion would not be able to do much but postpone word getting back to Galbatorix that the sapphire dragon and Rider were gone. Murtagh, while vital to the operations of the Varden in his own way, was not such an important figure that if he vanished no one would really think to hard about it. Eragon had also spoken to his cousin and his new bride the previous evening. Farewells to Roran and Katrina had not been as awkward as he had feared they would be. It seemed, what with all that had occurred since seeing his cousin again, Roran had thawed to him and his words the previous night had been spoken by the brother Eragon remembered him being.

The strange trunk with its even stranger contents had been packed into Eragon's magically enlarged saddle bags and, while the trunk had been enchanted so it was remarkably light, Eragon still felt very uneasy having it with them. If Galbatorix sent his magically created illusion to attack them then they would not only have a dragonling to protect but a trunk that Brom seemed to think contained objects of incalculable value even if they were so dangerous that the man refused to explain anything about them.

_I will have you know, _said Saphira as she regarded the red dragonling. _That I never landed in such an undignified way._

_Shush, _said Eragon to her. _Unlike Thorn you had many more opportunities to move and fly while he has been shut up in a tent. You had a whole mountain range to roam and he has had nowhere to even stretch out or taste the wind. _

The Rider was trying hard not to look at Arya but, while he managed to keep his gaze focused on something else, he found himself struggling to control his nerves. He wanted to be off and gone not standing here, sharing a few goodbyes when he did not know how to say good bye to the person he most wanted to speak to. She seemed about as warm as ice and Zoe, chilly though she appeared in the morning sunlight, smiled a little when he met her grey-blue eyes.

"Well," said Brom as he rested a hand gently on Eragon's shoulder. "I can only tell you to be careful and hurry as much as you can."

"I will do my best," said the Rider as he looked into the older man's eyes. This man was his father, strange as that may seem right then, and Eragon wondered if he would ever to be able to fully accept Brom into that role. Garrow had filled it for so long and Brom, dear as he was to the Rider's heart, had yet to lose the distance that had always lingered between them even in Carvahall. Perhaps, when the Rider returned, he would be able to ask the man about Selena for Murtagh would never discuss her and Eragon longed for details about the woman that was his mother.

"Eragon," said Brom and there was something in that word, the tone of his voice, that made Eragon suddenly realize that the elder man, never at a loss as to what to do or say, desperately wanted something from the Rider more than another nod or worn out phrase. But Eragon did not know what to do, he was at a loss and he might have just ignored the unspoken plea had it not been for his companion of heart and soul. His companion who knew that one should not set out on dangerous travels without saying the things that so desperately needed to be said.

_Show him you care, _said Saphira. _He loves you, Eragon. Show him that you love him to. _

_How? _

_How do you think? _

Quickly, before he could think too hard about it, Eragon embraced the man before him tightly. It was not the embrace of two friends or comrades but one that can only be shared between a parent and child. It was tight and it contained so much emotion, so many unspoken things that it could never be fully described by mere words. When Eragon pulled back he found that he had to blink back tears. Brom also seemed overcome by emotion but he said nothing and, with one final tight squeeze on Eragon's arm, he drew back.

"Safe travels Eragon," said Zoe as she stepped forward from where she had been speaking to Murtagh and smiled gently. From the softness in her grey-blue eyes, Eragon knew she was fully aware of the significance of the embrace between Brom and Rider, between father and son but she made no comment on it as she smiled up at the towering dragoness, "And the same to you Saphira." The princess embraced him then, a tight embrace that made Eragon smile as he hugged her back. "Give them my greetings," she murmured in his ear and then, to his surprise, he felt her slip a piece of paper into his sleeve. The movement, quick and smooth, was accompanied by a quick whisper, "Give that to them. It is a letter from me and I think it best coming from you."

Zoe drew back and Eragon wondered, as he met her gaze, what was on that letter. But he said none of that and, instead, he asked with a faint smile, "Any warnings?"

"Be careful of the dwarves," she said with a dark look. "Some will not welcome you and, while you are in Ellesmera, I highly recommend visiting Runon." Her eyes danced with something like amusement, "You may find that visiting her and a certain place will give you a…well a new edge?"

"You speak in riddles friend," said the Rider. "But I suppose you won't tell me anymore?"

"The path will be quite clear once you see it," said Zoe with a shake of her head. "Just try not to make too many enemies? And, if all else fails, trust your instinct and do not be dissuaded."

Then the girl stepped past him then to speak with Saphira and Eragon was left looking at her. She was gazing at him, her green eyes strangely conflicted and he had that strange feeling again. It was a kind of jolt that made him feel both warm with happiness and cold with nerves.

"Arya," he said and she inclined her head slightly.

"Safe travels Eragon," she stepped forward and they gazed at each other, eye to eye for a long moment. "Be safe," she whispered softly in the Ancient Language.

"You to," he said and he took her hands in his without really thinking about. They were warm and he squeezed them as he asked, "I will see you when I return?"

She met his gaze and, once, he might have dropped it but not now. Somewhere, somehow, he had learned how to believe and what it meant to be true. "Yes," she said. "You will see me."

A warm flair of joy went through him and he smiled, "I will…I will miss you."

"Fly safe," said the elf and there was something about her eyes, the words and the way she said them that made leaving a little easier. There was something about leaving Arya now that did not feel as if they were leaving any chance at having something more – whatever that 'more' was – and he felt as if he could come back now and it would be as if he had never left.

He smiled at her and then…well then it was time to go. It was time to leave and - so quickly he barely realized it - he was up on Saphira with Murtagh behind him. Thorn was beside Saphira, he would fly the first little bit and then he would rest for a time. Eragon looked down at the three faces and he wondered just how they would meet again. Would it be in battle? Would it be on the eve of a battle or on the trail end of one? Would he back when he needed to be or back too late?

Eragon knew that his reasons for leaving were important. He had not even spoken of some of his reasons to anyone besides Saphira and, while he knew that Zoe was aware of them, she had never spoken of the prophecy or Solembum's advice before. Her words just a few minutes before had reminded him that she most likely knew exactly what was awaiting him both in Farthen Dur and in Ellesmera. Zoe had been an ardent defender of him leaving for Ellesmera and that made him think that whatever happened on this trip was not only crucial for Murtagh and Thorn's safety but for whatever lay before them in the twisting strands of the future. He also suspected that she had guessed he would pass the red blade, sheathed at his side, onto Murtagh and that, like distant warning bells in the back of his mind, rang Solembum's words about a weapon he could find beneath the Menoa Tree.

_I shall be with you, _reminded Saphira as she spread her wings out to the side. _We shall meet it together. _

_And, _he said with a faint smile as she lifted her wings for the first downward, propelling stroke, _when at last it comes time for us to land then, if anything, let us try to land a little easier then Thorn. _

_I told you, _she snapped, _I have never landed like that and I never will. _

Eragon felt Murtagh's grip tighten around his stomach as Saphira leaped into the air followed by Thorn. Below them, faces turned to watch their flight, was the daughter of an elven queen, a man who had told many stories and been many things and, last but not least, a girl with grey-blue eyes who watched them rise into the clear morning air with desperate eyes and clenched hands.

_Let us land safely, _thought the Rider. _Let us land back upon the solid ground safely. _

* * *

><p><em>Auburn hair, bright hazel eyes and a laugh that echoed through the air like wind chimes. The sound of running feet upon the gravel of a garden path. An elegant dress of green swishing around her as she came to a stop before the bower whose slender arches were covered in trailing tendrils of a flowering vine. She looked alive; as brilliant and fair as one of the hanging red roses that grew in abundance throughout this small garden.<em>

_I smiled at the sight of the young, beautiful face that was flushed with color and called out a greeting to her. She was a dear friend and an even dearer one after it became clear just how enamored my dear brother, Eomund, was of her. Petered, Lucia and I had all firmly decided that she was, out of all the candidates that could be found in the noble houses of Prydain, the most perfect choice for our solemn, seldom openly joyful brother. It was the three of us who decided to do what we could to bring them together. _

_"Zoe!" She said with a wide smile. "Where does thou brother sequester himself this fine day?" _

_"The library I would think," I said as I sat a little straighter in the comfortable chair with one finger keeping my place in the book I was currently reading. "Roust him out if you can, Kitiava! But I have had no luck."_

_She laughed and, with a swirl of her bright skirt, she turned back the way she had come. Kitiava was a free spirit, the very thing that had originally made her my friend when she first came to Court for a short visit when we were both young children. Now, both of us grown, we had both bucked the restrictive rules of Court - together. She had not been as radical as I had decided to be and picked up a sword so that she could head to the wild North. She, instead, had foregone the tools of war or the painted fan of a Court Lady and chosen a healer's needle and herb lore. A little more respectable then going out a fighting alongside men but - still - for the youngest and highly marriageable daughter of a High Lord, it was radical enough. _

_I hoped, as both my siblings did, that she would be successful in opening up Eomund's closed heart…_

Dawn came bright and clear but I was already up when the sun decided to show the first of its golden rays.

I was already ready to go and so was the elf, Laufin, who would accompany me for a time. My mare saddled, my weapons ready, the code learned and the purpose of this mission fixed firmly in the forefront of my mind. I had ruthlessly forced Murtagh to back and, for now, I was completely focused on the matter before me. I was going to be doing something dangerous and, if I wanted to make it through, then there was no time for such things as love or regret. Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh and his dragonling had left the previous morning and, since then, I had been busy getting ready for this trip. I had been far too busy to think of anything else.

"You will be careful," said Brom softly as he gently rested a hand on my mare's neck and gazed into my eyes.

"I shall."

"The Varden will be there soon," he said for the thousandth time. "But I don't want you playing the hero – if you find out anything useful then excellent – don't yourself killed or captured in the process." He was like a sports coach desperately giving out a few last minute tips to an athlete who was so done with hearing them, too far lost in the zone, that they simply tuned them out.

"I know all of this," I told him with forced patience. "I shall arriver there, do my best and send my mare back with Laufin. When you and the Varden arrive at Feinster, I will meet up with you and assist in the battle that shall be fought."

That is the simplified version of the plan. For the next aim of the Varden was to capture the city of Feinster and, to make that easier, I was going to be doing a wee bit of espionage. Murtagh had a small collection of spies in the city and, as the new spy master, I was off to do what I could to disrupt Empire preparations, gather intelligence and information regarding the city's defenses. In the company of Laufin, one of the elven spellcasters, I would ride to the city and, a safe distance away, we would stop and the elf would return to the Varden with my horse. From that point on I would be armed with only my weapons (carefully hidden with magic), my wits, some spy code, a little magic and whatever luck chose to follow me. The plan had been discussed with Nasuada and, to prevent attention from being drawn, we had slipped from camp in the early morning and now stood a safe distance away. My horse, saddled and anxious to be gone, pranced slightly.

"Then…" said the man with a worried frown as his eyes swept over me once more, "well then…good luck."

Arya stepped forward then, she had appeared troubled and worn to my eyes since the departure of the Riders or, should I say, one Rider in particular. "Fair travels to you," said the elf as she gripped my hand tightly in a gesture of friendship.

"I'll see you soon." I said the words with a smile but it was a forced expression and I knew she saw through it.

"Yes," she said and then she nodded to Laufin before stepping back. I suppose you could say Arya and I have many things in common but perhaps the most remarkable and the one we had never spoken of, was the feelings we both had for a certain pair of brothers. Regardless, we knew each other well enough to keep our farewells short and to the point – both knowing how the other felt about drawing such things out.

It was time to be off and I did not let myself wait. Instead, I mounted up swiftly and, beside me, Laufin did the same on his borrowed horse. Of course, because he is an elf, he rode with no saddle or bridle. I could have done the same but we had many miles to cover and, quite simply, a saddle is much more comfortable then a horse's bony withers. With a final nod to my two friends, I turned Melynlas in the direction of Feinster and we were off.

Why, you ask, am I doing this? Surely, you say, a princess with incredibly dangerous knowledge of the future should not risk herself in the game of spying and sneaking about in the dark allies? If that is really what you are saying then I my response is this: You sound like Murtagh. Exactly like Murtagh when he argued passionately against the plan.

You know, I shall admit it for I swore to tell the truth and share every last blinking detail that I could; there is something very thrilling about this kind of thing. You feel like an avenger, an arch-angel swooping down and there is something very intoxicating about it. It is you sneaking about, speaking code, discovering secrets, risking imprisonment and you are the one who can face those commanding generals head first and say 'No, no sir you have it all wrong this is what is going to happen.' Yes, perhaps you and Murtagh are right and I am being far too risky, but I cannot resist. I am not such a fool to be attracted by the romance of it (for there is none just as there is none in war) but this mission – this job – would take me away from the politics, the petty arguments, the endless lists of supplies, the maps, the men, worry for Murtagh and the future.

So, as my mare moves under me in a rhythmic canter, I look towards Feinster. I take you with me, you who look very skeptical and a bit worried for your personal safety. It's funny but in the face of Galbatorix's evil and the danger of what I am going to do, I feel no fear. I feel only ready. Perhaps – yes perhaps – I could hide in those meetings, play the petty politics and think endlessly of things that are now out of my control but I cannot do it. Even if it means covering myself in dirt so that I looked like a beggar, hiding from soldiers, risking the savage cruelty of the Empire's prisons or fighting more of those horrible living dead warriors, then I shall. Even if it means that I am betrayed and killed or any number of horrible, spine tingling, fear inducing things happens to me, then at least I won't have any delusions. I shall know where I stand.

Orrin can delude himself all he likes, Nasuada had can stall these inevitable battles and Galbatorix can play his games but, in the end, we will all have to face the truth and that is a dark truth. Time does not stop; it never does and never will. In the end, the games will be played and what is left is what was too strong to be broken, the things that endured. I twisted my fingers in the dark mane of Melynlas and kept my eyes fixed on the distant horizon line. Beside me, his face perfectly composed, rode the elf. And there is also you, dear reader, and you should have a little more faith sometimes. I am not as young nor as foolish as you might think and you are far from foolish.

_"I can't run anymore," I said. "You can go if you wish." _

_He looked skywards as if to beseech the heavens against my folly. "Zoe, be sensible! Just this one time, do not throw your life away." His voice took on a pleading note, "Please." _

_"I am sensible." I looked away from him and back out across the endless ocean that appeared black in the deepening twilight. "I must stay or I shall regret for the rest of my life." _

* * *

><p><strong><em>To those of you who are wondering about this chapter: it is a actually a string of one shots I have pulled together. I thought each of these segments could be its own chapter but, at the same time, I am just desperate to get to Feinster and Ellesmera so I scratched that plan and did this. Hopefully it isn't too disjointed and people enjoy it. <em>**

**_One of my reviewers asked about Angela and the little boy Zoe spoke to. Angela is going to play a rather key role in Feinster - be prepared for Zoe and Angela shenanigans. As for the boy, he will also reappear in a few more chapters._**

**_As for the Laughing Dead and how they are just supposed to be men who cannot feel pain - I just thought zombies were better. Men who cannot feel pain is cannon and all that but you aren't reading this just to read more canon are you especially when I already use quite a bit? So I took a few liberties with the story line and we ended up with dead warriors reanimated which just seemed a bit more...interesting? Who knows but I hope people don't mind too much :)_**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Skoilr: I am glad you like the flashbacks :) there are quite a few of them in this chapter. Yes! There will be more battles and the action will be good for the story! And your story is doing so well :) So much fun to read it! _**

**_Awesome707: I love your username - I just love the word 'awesome!' And, on another note, I am glad you liked the part with her brother! Happy reading to you :)_**

**_**_Eragona: Awe thank you so much for your comment! That means so much to me and I hope you continue to enjoy this story - it is for people to enjoy and just a chance for me to write which is something I love to do. Thank you again and I hope you have a lovely week! _**_**

**_Ray: haha a little romance is always nice but not too much! Melancholy is a cool word...I might have to find some excuse to use it! I am so glad you liked the 'dry toast' thing...and there is a lot of romance in MI but that is part of what makes it soo addicting and just impossible to put it down! Hope you enjoy this chapter :) _**

**_Chris: I shall not mention the B-word! As for inspiration - I suppose if we show up for our part of the deal it should show up for its side and, if it doesn't, then we just have to keep soldiering on ;) No funny-bones are not at all funny! So glad you liked the last chapter and, as for the woman and her son, they will appear a little later on. Well the boy will - I haven't forgotten them :) As for Angela...she will turn up again! I will give you a hint: Feinster. Also Zoe and the elves shall be interesting, she has to travel with one of them so expect a conversation between her and Laufin. Happy writing to you! :) So awesome to hear from you and I am so glad that you will not be sitting on the edge of your seat!_**

**_TheReadingValkyrie: I am glad you like it :) Some people don't but I like to write this way and, as for Zoe having real fears, I think that is important because it makes her seem more real. Thank you for reviewing and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: Zoe is not sure she likes all this adrenalin junkie shizzle! As for that Rider and dragon, Zoe is going to be doing a little investigating about them :) They will make a few reappearances later on. Ah school *mini meltdown* yes it is crazy and I can't wait to have highschool over and done with because, while I could deal with the tests, its the pressure the teachers put on you and all the student drama. Well I like that idea of 'death-on-toast-teachers' and it is very appropriate for my calculus teacher (so glad that is over!) but I always thought of it as being these grim-faced, no humor whatsoever teachers who stare at you whenever you try to be funny. and appear to be walking dead. But the possibilities are endless! Happy reading and writing! ;) Hope all is well for you!_**

**_live laugh play music: That was just another memory from Zoe's past. :) Hope you like this chapter!_**

**_Nimtheriel: You got your Thorn! OMG he is hard to write so don't expect too much from him until we move beyond the round-ear-something-something phase! lol I am glad someone liked the Hamlet allusions and physics. I suppose if you spend so much time learning all this stuff in school you just can't help yourself but try to find someplace to actually use it! French insults! That sounds so awesome! French is such a pretty language and that just makes the insults even funnier ;) You just got a taste of just who Zoe paired Eomund up with :) and, maybe, in the next chapter I shall flip back to her world and readers can see what is happening there. Love triangles...wowzers well Valentines Day is coming up so 'tis the season! Happy reading and writing to you :)_**

**_crazyikleangel: You will get a Murtagh POV next chapter :) I promise and he will talk about the difficulties of having to be set aside when the time comes to fight or do anything of that sort because of Thorn's youth. Next one! Look for it :) It will be in honor of you and I am sorry I didn't slip it into this one but I thought I had enough going on. Happy reading and writing to you!_**

**_Guest: They are a reference :) Zoe's story is kind of a culmination of multiple stories that I have read like the Chronicles of Prydain, a little bit of Narnia and some Song of the Lioness. Hope you are still enjoying the story :) _**

**_Rickmar: I am glad you like the story :) and I hope that I can continue to make it interesting - next few chapters shall be very un-canon if that makes any sense. Thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter. _**


	75. The Night and Fog

He lives an unscheduled life.

He moves through the small city as if it is his own. Once, when he was younger, he lived in a much larger city and the streets of this city feel too small for him. He sits in the taverns and on the corner of streets, observing people who pay him little notice as he blends into the groups of men in interchangeable work clothes. He always carries a notebook full of seemingly random letters and numbers that he occasionally adds to. All of it, runes and words and glyphs, have no order but they make sense to him.

The man passes his days watching, gathering and occasionally sending on snippets of information to the person who is interested in such things and who asked him to come here. He watches the soldiers that gather and then move out to be replaced by more. The numbers and faces blending into each other until the groups of men all look the same. But, one day, he places a hand on his pocket and realizes that his notebook is missing.

He swears aloud, attracting a glare from a passing woman who steps aside as he stops short on a crowded street. Moving fast, he retraces his steps, growing more anxious with each turn.

A light rain begins to fall, not much more than mist, but several umbrellas spring up amongst the crowd. He pulls the brim of his nondescript hat down to better shield his eyes as he searches the dampening stone cobbles for any sign of his notebook.

He stops at a corner beneath awning of a butcher, watching the lamps flickering up and down the street, wondering if he should wait until the crowd thins or the rain lets up. Then he notices there is a girl beneath another awning, and she is looking at him with a black book that he is quite certain is his own in her hand.

She is perhaps nineteen but her eyes are far older and a grey-blue that he finds striking. Her hair is an indeterminate color that cannot seem to decide if it is blond or brown. She wears a simple dress and her cloak has seen better days, her clothes and hair are damp from the rain. The eyes, however, are the most striking thing about her.

He steps closer, but she does not move nor shift her gaze. He can now see that it is his book and he does not quite know what to do. So, trying to force his unease away, he says after a moment, "You have my book."

"I'm sorry," she says in a faintly accented voice and she does not seem the least bit bothered. She quickly pushes the journal at him. "You dropped it and I thought you would come this way again." She is not flustered or even apologetic, you would have thought it was a dropped glove and he had just turned to retrieve it only to find her already holding it out to him.

"That's quite alright," he says, relieved to have it back in his possession but he is uneasy around her; he is uneasy around everyone, always suspicious. "I was afraid it was lost for good, which would have been unfortunate. I owe you my deepest gratitude, Miss…"

"Liana" she says and he wonders, as he looks at her, if it is a lie but he is not sure. A questioning look follows, waiting for his own name and he has to admit that she must be a good liar if that is not her name.

"Marco," he says. The name tastes strange on his tongue, the opportunities to speak it aloud falling few and far between. He has written this name in that strange, disorganized jumble of code so many times that it seems like his own, but adding sound to symbol is a different process entirely. It isn't really his name but he has lived a lie for a long time now. It is easier then he thought it would be. He lives and breathes Marco now.

Liana accepts it with ease and her acceptance makes it feel more real.

He should thank her and take his book and go, it is the sensible thing to do. But he is not particularly inclined to return to his rooms and his instincts are buzzing. He remembers his last missive from his recently changed captain warning of an impending arrival in this quiet city.

"Might I buy you a drink as a token of my thanks, Miss?" he asks, after slipping the notebook into his pocket.

The girl does not hesitate even though she must know the dangers of accepting invitations for drinks from strange men on darkened street corners, but to his surprise, she nods. She seems totally at ease as if she usually accepts drinks from strange men in the rain. "That would be lovely, thank you," she says.

"Come then," Marco says. "If you don't mind a damp walk there is a fine establishment not far from here."

"I don't mind," Liana says. Her smile, decides Marco, is nice.

Marco offers her his arm, which she takes gracefully, and they set off down the street in the softly falling rain. They walk for a few minutes and then down another narrow alley, and Marco can feel her tense in the darkness as if preparing herself to fight, but she relaxes when he stops at a well-lit doorway next to a fogged window. He holds the door open for her as they enter a tiny tavern, one that has become one of his favorites over these past few months. One of the few places in this small city where he feels a little more at ease.

Candles flicker in their lanterns and the walls are a rich wood. There are only a few patrons scattered about the intimate space and plenty of empty tables. They sit at a small table near the window. Marco waves at the woman behind the bar, who then brings them two large tankards of some mead.

As the rain gently patters against the windows, Marco meets her gaze and she smiles a charming smile. "However did you find a place like this in such a city?"

"Trial and error," he says. "And a great many glasses of terrible mead."

Liana laughs. She has a pretty laugh and he knows, because he knows enough about illusions both magical and real, that she is a kind of illusion herself. The ragged cloak and simple dress are just parts of that illusion. Liana is too confident, to assured of herself and he is uneasy in her presence. She does not take a single sip of the mead.

"There are some things in your book that I would be more careful with," she says with a faint nod in the direction of his pocket. "I wouldn't want it falling into the wrong hands."

Marco chooses his words carefully; wary about the direction the conversation is taking. "And what does a young lady know of such things?"

"Only things that I've been told," she says. "I know what your…code…means." She pauses and those old, striking eyes sparkled dangerously. They appear older then they did when he first met her and wiser. "I know it quite well."

Earlier Marco had determined her to be little more than mildly intriguing and fairly pretty, this revelation is something more. He knows, quite suddenly, just who is sitting before him and it makes him gasp softly in a rare show of emotion. He is utterly shocked. He leans into the table, regarding her with considerably increased interest.

"You mean you are…?" he asks.

Liana nods. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

He does not quite know what to do. Here is someone who knows exactly what he is and is one herself, who is his commander now. But he does not do anything, he finishes his drink and Marco settles their bill with the woman behind the bar. He places his hat on his head and takes her arm, suddenly more wary of her and more attentive than before. She seems to find this amusing.

And he cannot help but glance at her face. He knows illusions – they are his specialty – but her illusion hides a person he has heard only vague rumors about. A woman who had fought in some of the bloodiest battles waged for decades and was now a spy. There was none of that now. No sign of sword or bow. No sign that she was, in fact, a warrior or spy for a rebel army. No sign that she moved among the King's most dangerous enemies. Now that he knows that she is a spy – the head of the network – he cannot help but be impressed with her skill at lying, at telling a story that has enough truth in it to be believable but is, in fact, very far from the truth.

To passerby on the darkened street and the watchful soldiers that would like nothing better than to catch them, they appear like nothing more than a brother and sister walking back home after a long day. They walk quickly, heads bent against the rain that is falling with increasing heaviness and their shoulders slightly stooped as if to suggest a long, weary day.

Marco stops abruptly in the middle of the next street over, just outside a dark building that is in bad need of some repairs. It is set back from the street and, once, it was a nice house but it has seen better days. It is here that he rents a small collection of rooms and the rest of the place is used by a small family whose mother runs a laundry business in the kitchen. They don't care anything about him; they think he works all day at some job inside the city walls. His quiet ways and simple habits make him uninteresting. It is also here, hidden beneath a loose floorboard, that he stores other notebooks full of code that has already been sent on.

Code and more code. Lie after lie. Illusion after illusion and silence. Always silence even when you are captured and brutally interrogated. Silence then and there is the quiet defiance that makes you go out and do it or spit in your captor's face. Even in the face of a power much much stronger then you there is that silence, the quiet defiance . He wonders, not for the first time, just what drew him to this. There is hatred, a bitter desire for revenge, but there is always part of him that would like nothing better than to sit down before a clean sheet of paper and write something other than code. Part of him longs for the beautiful garden of his childhood home and the days when he could smile without restraint, say things without considering his words and move without the dark cloud of what he is doing and what could happen to him if he was ever caught.

He forces those thoughts away. It would do him no good to falter now – as he has told himself many times before – and never get to experience those things. It would do no good to be captured now, interrogated and thrown away like used garbage when they had broken him in body and mind. There is, he knows, no room for error. M. (the single letter name used by the previous spy captain when they spoke through code) had not sent him here because he made mistakes or got nervous and blew everything. He had sent him here because he had nerves of steel and he would not destroy that reputation now.

It was nerves of steel that had gotten him through life.

Nerves of steel that got him landed in Feinster with nothing more than his wits, his notebooks and only a few directives as to what he should look for.

"You must want to talk," he says as he meets her gaze. He cannot quite believe who is standing before him, looking so completely ordinary.

"Yes," she says.

The spy – for that is what he is – gestures her to follow him and he only looks back once to make sure that neither soldiers nor any one of the enemy spies he know resides in this city is following them. The girl follows him inside and, if one looked at her right then, they would have thought that her hair looked remarkably dark and her face remarkably lovely but, if they had kept looking, a moment later they would have decided their eyes were playing tricks on them, shook their heads and forgotten all about it.

* * *

><p>It had been a difficult decision but a necessary one.<p>

I entrusted my horse, my sword, bow and horn to my rather reluctant elven companion when the time for me to continue on by foot to Feinster came. Originally I had thought I would take my weapons and just hide them with magic but it was, quite simply, just too dangerous that the illusion would slip and they would be seen. What kind of working girl carries about weapons if her biggest cares are making a dime or two here and there? Laufin had sworn he would guard them and protect them until he reached the Varden at which point he would give them to Brom. With any luck I would be able to get them back from the old man before I...well before I really needed them. Without my trusty sword and bow, I was left with one dwarf dagger and, only slightly more reassuring, the dagger given to me by Runon.

Laufin had been pleasant enough on this on rather grim ride; his silent company preferable to my troubled mind. We had shared only a few sentences and stopped only briefly to rest the horses. There was no mention of the fierce argument over Murtagh or any mention of my stint as ambassador in Du Weldenvarden, we spoke only about our route. Truth to be told, I thought very little of Murtagh during that ride. I had to be focused, my mind clear of such distractions, and the best time to start was before I actually got there.

Feinster was...well it was smaller then what I had expected. The descriptions I had read made it sound like a fairly large and prosperous place and, while there was an air of prosperous to it, it certainly wasn't as big as I had originally thought. The streets were narrow, spiraling upwards until they reached the walled keep at the top of the hill upon which the city had been built. One large wall encircled the place and, to enter, one had to make oneself known at one of the two large gates watched by armed soldiers with suspicious eyes. It was into these narrow, crowded streets that twisted and turned and branched all over the place, that I slipped into. I had watched the faces around me carefully, wandered through the streets, been shoved around by the crowd and had hawkers call out to me as they showed off their wares. Then, just as I was really beginning to despair of ever finding him, I did.

And now I sat on a rickety chair in the small collection of rooms owned by a spy who went by the name 'Marco.' He was an apt informant and he would not have lost his notebook if I hadn't slipped it out of his pocket. From what Murtagh had told me of him and his past, he wouldn't be letting anyone slip it from his pocket again. I knew he would come back for it, search for it, and it had been an easy way of introduce myself to him or Liana to introduce herself to him.

Liana was my new mask.

We knew each other well.

I had been her before when I used to slip into taverns or damp sewers to listen to conversations between thieves, working men and mercenaries for hire. I had been her when I needed to be someone inconspicuous and easy to forget. She had been to many different places, seen many things and was as easy to draw on as an old pair of gloves. My memory, while still incomplete, had brought her back to me during my time in Du Weldenvarden and I had spent more than one afternoon recalling exactly how I worked her disguise. Her nondescript hair, earnest looking face and quietness were borrowed illusions from a maid who had once helped me when I was in Caer Calldren. It is easy to shape magic when you have a real thing to think of and base it from. Then all you need is discipline and some imagination.

But, you ask, I stole Marco's notebook? I suppose you could say I did. Though I did plan on returning it to him and so you can't really say I stole anything at all. As for how I managed it, slim fingers and a few lessons with a good friend who made his way as a thief in the Lower Circle of the city outside of Caer Daythl had made slipping a notebook from a pocket rather easy.

"Why are you here?" came the quiet voice of Marco.

"Nasuada wished me to see the city and prepare it for the coming attack," I bounced one finger on the wood of the table. "I have heard rather disturbing rumors about certain spell casters in this city."

Marco grunted. "They think themselves stronger than they are. From what I have heard and seen, they are interested in the darker aspect of sorcery. But what they might do when the Varden come, I cannot say."

Indeed, those magic users were walking a fine line and I wanted to find out more about them. Perhaps, if I managed it right, I could stop them from summoning a Shade. I might not – and maybe that is something I shouldn't meddle with – but perhaps the journey will count more than that goal. Perhaps, as I search for those magicians and navigate my way through the keep, I shall find out things a

"And the number of soldiers currently in Feinster?"

"There are enough," he said with a grimace. "But they come and go. The city was inundated before the Battle of the Burning Plains and it made moving around difficult. Since then, the number has dropped significantly." Marco was silent for a moment, "Troops are concentrated in main fortress in the center of the city."

"Like usual," I said with a frown. "The fortress is always at the top of hill. What of the Lady who controls this city?"

"Bound tightly with oaths," said Marco with a grimace. "But she is a kind ruler and, if the Varden did claim the city, she would be open to negotiations if only to protect her people." He tapped a finger on the table and then stopped the restless movement, his face troubled. "I do not worry for that quarter, it is the magicians here and the spies Galbatorix has planted here."

My fingers clenched ever so slightly in my lap. I could not help but think of Vivian, Murtagh's old friend who had killed herself in Surda. As necessary as a conflict between the Varden's spies and the Black Hand was, it was a chilling thing to consider. After all, we were the ones outnumbered in this place.

"How many other informants?" I asked.

"It is difficult to pin point the exact number," he said with a shrug. "Enough but this is a small city and Galbatorix does not care overly much for it."

"And our other informant in Feinster?" I asked. There was one other man here but he sent only the occasional message and, for the most part, it had been Marco who we relied on.

"He is…unreliable," said Marco after a pause. "He would not betray us but neither will he willingly go out of his way either. There are times we have collaborated but only to verify facts. I can introduce you to him."

"Thank you," I said with a nod and we lapsed into silence. My questions and his answers had come one after the other in quick succession. Now we both took a moment to think over what had been said and the effects it would have. I'll admit: I was disappointed. There were only two of us! The third was not even half as useful as I had hoped.

He sighed then and rubbed a hand across his face as he asked, "What do you intend to do during your time here?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Me? I think that should be a 'we'? You are going to help me. We have under two weeks before the Varden come. Enough, I think, to make their way a little easier."

"You are proposing something rather dangerous," said the young man before me but his eyes glinted with interest. "The keep is heavily guarded and there are Empire spies out there. Anything significant would have to be done very carefully."

"Have you never played cat and mouse?" I inquired.

"There is only one other informant in this city," he said with a shrug. "The Varden can't afford to lose any of us. I do what I can without venturing into such lion's dens." He tapped a finger on the wood of the table, "But I was always found of the dangerous side of life."

I laughed. "Tomorrow, I will find work in the keep and see what can be done."

"Into the night and the fog we shall go," he said with a faint smirk. He was quoting a line of Murtagh's when he wished his spies to venture into places where they just might lose everything, never to be heard of or seen again. Gone. Vanished. Forever. Code for going and risking your neck in a place where you could vanish as easily as blinking.

_The night and the fog. _

In that dingy set of rooms, in a small city where the rain fell with increasing heaviness and the lanterns whose flames flickered and threatened to go out, that phrase had never seemed more appropriate. The streets were dim and the night black. So we would go, into the night and the uncertainty that lay ahead. If I wasn't careful or Marco wasn't careful then that might very well be our fate.

If we all weren't careful then - whether one be King or pauper or soldier or spy - then would be your end.

* * *

><p>Murtagh stood in the shadow of the forest.<p>

Beside him - scales glinting dully in the fading sunset - was Thorn and behind them was the blue dragon and her Rider. They had flown through the day and most of the night, pausing only for a brief rest, and then continued on until now. Saphira had covered the vast distance with a little help from a tail wind. And now, after spending endless amounts of time thinking about what awaited him in this place, they were here.

And Murtagh wasn't sure he wanted to be here at all.

"What now?" asked Murtagh with a glance back at his serious looking cousin.

"We wait," said Eragon. "They will meet us here."

_And I will continue on with 'them' or whoever 'them' is. Zoe says they are wise and kind but what if? What if they take one look at me and see only my past, my father and refuse me? _

Such were the words that ran through his mind. The doubts would not leave him alone and, with them, came the soft murmur of Zoe's reassurances which, far from making him feel better, just reminded him of how far away she was again. She was long gone to Feinster and whatever danger awaited her in the dark, twisting streets and hollow corridors. If thinking about what she might be doing and - after Surda he had a pretty fair idea - then sitting safely away from the fighting while she fought was going to be incredibly frustrating and gut wrenching for him. His last taste of it had not sat well with him and it had taken every ounce of his love for Thorn to keep himself from running out with a sword in hand. When she had appeared, face grim and eyes snapping with power, he had wanted to embrace her and never let her go. But he couldn't embrace her because she was covered in painful bruises and small scrapes.

But thoughts of Zoe, as much as he wanted to think of her, had to be the last thing on his mind. He was about to begin his training as a Rider – if they accepted him considering just who his father was – and, the quicker he learned and Thorn grew, then the quicker he could be back doing what he should be doing: fighting. And that was fighting by her side.

"Are you nervous?"

Murtagh started slightly at the unexpected question. He turned his head and met Eragon's open gaze. "I suppose," said the young man after a long moment.

"I was," said the other Rider softly.

Murtagh had spoken often with his brother and they had spoken of many things neither would ever share with anyone who was not a brother. But, recently, there had not been time and, even during the long flight, they had both been too wrapped up in their own thoughts to even think of voicing them. However, as he regarded the serious face of his younger half-brother he realized that Eragon was probably the only one besides Zoe who had any idea of what really awaited him in the forest. His brother had changed as well, no longer did Murtagh feel like he was the elder by a long mile.

"What do you do?" he asked softly.

"You learn to think," said Eragon after a moment's thought. "You learn what it means to be a Rider…you won't have as much to learn as I did." The blue Rider shrugged, "You also don't have as much time as Saphira and I."

"Magic," said Murtagh. "I know no magic." Galbatorix had hoped that he did but a tutor in the subject had quickly determined that he had inherited none of his mother's skill. At that time, Murtagh had been glad he had none but now he wished he had at least been able to learn the basics.

Eragon smiled slightly, "Magic? Magic is just a way of thinking, of believing. The strength and endurance comes with time and practice."

Murtagh looked back to the dark forest. The red light of the sun shone through the top canopy of leaves and made the tops of the trees look like they were on fire. The young man felt as if the air was humming around him, as if the atoms of air were charged with some wild power. In the shadow of this forest he suddenly understood why Galbatorix did not yet dare to attack it. There was something about it, that formidable line of trees and the air and the sky, which told him to be wary. The wind had changed, now it blew from the direction of the forest.

_They are coming, _said Saphira suddenly. _I can feel them. _

_Murtagh? _The young voice of Thorn broke through Murtagh's sudden surge of adrenalin at Saphira's words. Rubbing the warm scales of the dragonling he wondered at the sound of his name spoken by his partner of heart and soul. Since his first utterance the previous morning, Thorn had begun to speak more and more. For the most part they had only ever shared emotions, thoughts and images but now the dragonling had decided to venture into the spoken word.

_What Thorn? _

_Who is coming? _

_Our new teachers. _

_Who are they? _

_I don't know, _he said the words with clear frustration though he tried to hide it from the dragonling. But Thorn knew him well, he knew that Murtagh's frustration was born out of fear and not at anything he had said. Instead of drawing away, the dragonling leaned into his hand and hummed gently. Sometimes, like right then, the young man found himself completely overwhelmed by the depth of the connection between them.

"Do you remember the greeting?" asked Eragon who had stepped forward to stand beside hm.

"Yes," said Murtagh without glancing at him. Zoe had taught it to him before he left and Murtagh, after all the hours spent with private tutors, had a remarkably extensive vocabulary in the Ancient Language. He was a little rusty but it came back easily enough.

It was then, soft upon the air, that Murtagh caught the first few thumps. It grew louder, the vibrations in the air closer together and then, swopping down out of the darkening sky, came a dragon.

A magnificent gold dragon with a Rider upon its back.

He wasn't really surprised.

In many ways, Murtagh would have been surprised if it was not a dragon and Rider of old. From the vague statements made by Zoe, Eragon and Saphira he had inferred that there had been more than one teacher and that they were highly respected by all who lived in Du Weldenvarden. Besides, had not Galbortorix always sworn that, hidden in Du Weldenvarden, there had to be a remnant of the Order he had tried to eradicate? If anything it was meeting a dragon and Rider who would have encountered Morzan that Murtagh had been dreading most. This pair – the dragon with his missing foreleg – would have known Morzan. They would also know of his treachery for they had been directly and horribly affected by it.

Saphira and Thorn bugled in greeting as the dragon swooped down to land upon the ground with a dull thud and a reverberation through the ground that made the leaves shake on the trees. In comparison, Saphira looked small and Thorn about the size of a small puppy. Trepidation grew inside Murtagh, though he tried to hide it as the dragon turned its golden head and looked straight at him.

And _looked _at him.

He had met Shruikan's hateful, angry stare and understood it in a way. Murtagh could grasp a little of Shruikan's situation, especially in those dark days when he lived at Court. But this was different. This dragon's stare made him want to drop his eyes because it was searching and it seemed to read everything about him in a single look. It took every last ounce of his determination – all his damn stubbornness – to meet that gaze. For a long moment they stared at each other and then the dragon looked away without a word, clearly greeting Saphira and Thorn.

Murtagh wondered if he found him worthy.

It was then that the Rider leapt down from his high perch. He was dressed in dark traveling clothes that contrasted sharply with his silver hair that glinted in the fading light. Fair and tall he was, but there was an ancient look to his face and eyes. Murtagh had the feeling that he had been old even when the Fall occurred and was ancient even by the count of the elves.

"Eragon-fineriel," he said with a smile and Murtagh watched his brother step forward, a warm smile upon his face as he spoke the traditional greeting. Only then, the formal words over and done with, did Eragon gesture at him.

"Master," he said then, "let me introduce you to my brother, Murtagh Rider of Thorn."

The elf Rider turned his face to examine Murtagh with piercing silver eyes. For a long moment Murtagh just stared back, he had never backed down in his life. Dawning masks and pretty words was not backing down, it was fighting back in a different way. If he wanted this elf to know one thing about it, only one, it was that he suffered no one. He had lived through things that would kill an ordinary person, been treated as a noble Lord of great wealth and power and had been privileged to learn under people as wise as Tornac. Life had hardened him, he was no boy come here to learn the lessons of a man.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Murtagh Rider of Thorn." The elf's voice was musical, soothing and warm. "I am Oromis Rider of Glaedr."

The gold dragon turned its head and focused its gaze once more on Murtagh, _Fate seems to have chosen your family to be bonded with dragons. _

Saphira spoke then, _Eragon and I shall return as soon as we can. But we must fly to Farthen Dur. _

"Hrothgar's successor must be chosen, I assume?" inquired Oromis with a look at his two previous students. Eragon nodded, there was a weary cast to his face and he appeared about as eager to take flight again towards the dwarves as Murtagh was to venture into the forest.

_Fly swift Saphira, _rumbled Glaedr. _There are things we must speak of when you return to Du Weldenvarden. _

_We shall be back as soon as we can, _said the pair together.

Eragon looked at Murtagh, "A word, brother?"

Murtagh nodded and they stepped apart from the dragons and watchful Rider. Eragon rested a hand on his shoulder. "Look," he said, "you might not believe me right now but I promise that Oromis and Glaedr won't judge you by things out of your control. And the things you have done are too numerous and too crucial to ever be casually cast aside."

Murtagh could not help but smile slightly at his brother's words nor his consistent use of the word 'brother'. Trust Eragon to say such things but he could not ignore them nor pass them off for Eragon was no longer the naïve boy he had once been and his words carried a little more weight than they had before. Squeezing his brother's arm in a warrior's embrace he said quietly, "Thank you and…and Eragon: stay safe."

The blue Rider smiled, "The same to you, Murtagh….I will see you soon." Then, his eyes set, Eragon did something that Murtagh had never expected him to do. He put one hand to his belt where Zar'roc was belted and unclipped the sword. Then, holding it out hilt first as if offering it Murtagh, he met his gaze.

"You are a Rider," he said then. "And a Rider should have a worthy sword. Zar'roc should have gone to you and, while it has served me, it should be yours."

"But," said Murtagh as he stared at Eragon in disbelief and, while part of him wanted to take the proffered hilt, another held back. "But…you need a sword, especially in Farthen Dur. It is with Zar'roc that you...I…" he stumbled uncharacteristically over the words, suddenly finding it very hard to articulate what he was feeling.

_You can't just go to the dwarves with no sword. In fact, you can't go anywhere without this sword. It has become part of your image, an important part when people think of you. Don't you get that Eragon? Don't you see that people would be confused if you drew a simple two-hand sword and challenged your enemies? _

Eragon cut across him.

"I can get another one," he said. "Lend me the one you carry for now and, when I return to Ellesmera, I shall find another." He met Murtagh's gaze and said in a low voice, "Take it Murtagh."

There was no trace of doubt in Eragon's eyes and Murtagh half wondered if his brother knew something that he didn't. Perhaps Zoe was behind this move and it wouldn't have surprised the red Rider if she was. He could almost see her standing behind Eragon, smiling at him and nodding her head. He could almost hear her telling him: go ahead, take it Murtagh. So, his hand trembling ever so slightly, he reached out and grasped the wire wrapped hilt of the ruby red sword. With his left hand gripping the sheathed sword tightly, he unclipped his old sword from his battered leather belt and Eragon took it.

Looking down at the sword in his hand, Murtagh clipped it to his belt. He knew Zar'roc, had been a victim of its ever sharp edge and had, until his father's death at Brom's hands, always expected to carry it one day. Now he did. Though he had come to the sword in a way he had never expected nor had reason to expect. It felt right to carry it now and something about it seemed to finalize this new step, his new place in the world as 'Rider.' The grip and design of the sword suited his style for Murtagh had always had a technique remarkably similar to his dead father though he did not like to think of that.

The two brothers looked at each other hard for a long moment. Neither of them needed to say anything more, through trial and tribulation they had come to know each other and that was a remarkable thing in itself considering where they had both come from. This was a moment of total connection, of understanding, and it lasted only a few short seconds.

The world called after all. Duty pressed and time grew short.

And then they returned, Eragon passing Oromis a letter of some sort though Murtagh did not know who it was from or what its contents might be. With a few more farewells to Thorn and Glaedr, the two took flight again. Saphira caught an updraft and shot upwards, Eragon nothing more than a dark dot on her neck, clinging tightly to her as she soared into the clear evening air to vanish into the rapidly falling darkness.

Murtagh turned his gaze back to Oromis who was gazing at him quietly. "Come," said the elf. "We shall camp just inside the forest tonight and continue to Ellesmera in the morning."

So, with one hand on the hilt of his father's sword, and the other resting on Thorn's shoulder, Murtagh stepped into the shadows of Du Weldenvarden.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would not be the same when he left. But he also knew that there were certain things about him that would never change. His feelings and memories of a certain princess, his feelings toward Galbatorix and his brutally practical streak were as unshakeable as the Beor Mountains. Because, as much as he might learn and gain in this place, he was still Murtagh son of Morzan and he had played too many games, seen too many things to leave it all behind.

The red ruby set in Zar'roc's pommel winked as the last few rays of the setting sun faded away leaving only inky blackness.

* * *

><p>The dartboard hangs precariously on a wall in the study, between tall bookcases and ornately framed oil paintings. It is almost camouflaged in the shadows despite its bold pattern, but the knife reaches its target each and every time it is thrown, very near the bull's eye that is obscured by the poster pinned to the board.<p>

The poster shows the face of a young man barely out of childhood and it doesn't even come close to capturing the changes that face has undergone since the poster was done. It is an honest face with curious eyes, nevertheless, it has been put in this position of execution, and the silver-handled knife is being thrown at it. The knife slices through the paper and sinks into the board. It is retrieved with a whispered word and then the process is repeated again.

And again.

The knife is being thrown gracefully, from the handle so it rotates over and over perfectly until the tip of the blade finds its mark. It flies across the room, over furniture of velvet and intricately carved wood, passing perilously close to a crystal decanter of brandy. It somersaults swiftly, handle over blade, and finds itself buried in the board once more.

The man follows in the wake of the knife, pulling the blade from the board carefully but with a fair amount of force, abandoning magic for the sake of doing something physical. He walks back across the room, knife in one hand, a glass of brandy in the other, and turns swiftly on his heel, letting the knife fly once more, aiming for the boy's forehead. That infuriating boy.

Clearly he must be doing something wrong. If his attempts at capturing the boy in the poster have failed so miserably then there must be something else he was missing. There had not been a person – certainly not one this young – who had vexed him so in many years. And certainly not one in years that provoked knife throwing. Knife throwing was something reserved for special cases.

The knife flies once again, this time piercing the boy's left eye.

He goes to retrieve it, sipping his brandy on the way. He regards the nearly decimated face curiously for a moment, peering at the almost illegible face as he considers things. He knows that there is time. Let the rebels and their tiny forces spend their strength at the small cities and then…then when they come to one of his largest and most important cities. A slow smile spreads across his face. He bellows for his favored captain and the knife vanishes into a sleeve.

* * *

><p><em><strong>So sorry for this long wait. I got this chapter written in a twenty-five hour long road trip where I watched movies, did homework, slept in the roomy back seat and, best of all, wrote! My back seat traveling companion was a rather grumpy girl who wasn't really prepared for how long it was and just doesn't see road trips like I do: a chance to watch all those movies, do homework and, most important, listen to music while writing your fan fiction. <strong>_

_**Note: the line 'the night and fog' comes from my WWII textbook. **_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**Niet boeiend: Thank you for reading up to this point! It is long :) and you know I had never thought of the Laughing Dead that way...oops I should have realized that. And thank you for teaching me that about the origin of the name 'Thorn' - again something I had never realized! Thank you for reading and reviewing...hope you enjoy this new chapter. **_

_**Nimtheriel: You got some THORN! I am glad you enjoyed it and I loved your scoring. Too bad dragon flying isn't in the Olympics. Yes! Espionage with MAGIC! and I love the Z and M and A love triangle...it sounds like a dangerous chemical reaction! lol and, as for Song of the Lioness, Alanna's character was a sort of touchstone for my creation of Zoe. It is subtle but she was an inspiration. Hope you enjoy this chapter :) **_

_**Rickmer: That is a flaw of mine as a writer and I am trying to work on it. I do have an editing process though sometimes I don't have as much time to spend on it. Thank you for the review and I shall keep your advice in mind :) **_

_**Wutus: I am glad that you enjoy this story. I know: girl falls into book is overdone. Dialogue...I have a think for it but I will try to make it a little more natural. Hope you continue to enjoy it and thank you for reviewing!**_

_**rissmuso: Thank you for your review. I understand completely where you are coming from and I shall keep it in mind. I appreciate every review - especially ones that make me reflect about the story. I think you will appreciate that there is no flashbacks in this chapter and thank you for reminding me about the 'too' I hate that word because I always forget about it! and I shall think about the 'as well' or 'also' as a substitute. Once more: thank you. :)**_

_**Chris: I was so prepared to hate highschool but it hasn't been as bad as it could be :) I actually enjoy my classes and, if you removed the drama, the social isn't so bad. It is the exams! They make them seem so live or die! But it is behind me (yay!) and I have to agree there is something very nice about the routine and the expectations..anyways your suggestion for an M and E romance talk has my mind coming up with some things...I love it! and I hope you enjoy this new chapter and that your own story is going well! :) **_

_**Ray: haha I hate it when that happens! Too many alerts! ;) Feinster is just an annoying word according to spell check and it would rather do crazy things to it then actually obey what your trying to type! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

_**Awesome707: I try to keep the twists in it...otherwise it would be boring. Hope you like this chapter :)**_

_**crazyikleangel: You will get more Murtagh and Thorn :) Hope you enjoy this new chapter!**_

_**Skoilr: Your review is one the keeps :) and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!**_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer: You have it right - it was kind of a 'Onwards' chapter...and you are also right - the freedom of no more highschool and Departmental exams that they tell you will make or break you is definitely what kept me going through exam week :) Hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

_**live laugh play music: Glad you liked it :) Hope you enjoy this chapter to! **_


	76. A Dangerous Game

Murtagh stared at the flickering flames of the small fire that Oromis had lit in a sheltered glade.

Thorn was curled up by his side, half-awake. Glaedr was sprawled out in a giant curve around them, his golden scales glowing warmly in the firelight. Oromis sat across the fire from the young man, his face thoughtful as he regarded the flames. They had said nothing, the young man not seeking to fill the silence and leaving it to the Rider to make the first move. He was not sure what to say and he knew that it was often better to say nothing then to say things one would later regret. He did not know how the elf saw him and he did not want to try and guess.

At last, his voice quiet, the elf said, "You know the value of patience."

Patience? Out of all the things the young man would have liked to have discussed with his new teachers, the value of patience was not one of them and he knew that patience had never been one of his strong suites. Murtagh raised an eyebrow, "Why do you keep acting as if you do not know?"

Oromis regarded him for a long moment and saw the tense worry that the young man almost, but not quite, managed to conceal behind his shuttered eyes. "I taught your father," he said at last. "I taught him and Brom before the Fall."

Murtagh had to fight back a groan. Just his luck! Only he could manage to get teachers who would, no doubt, have some very negative thoughts toward his father. However, he did not groan or even scowl but just stared silently into flames, the silence almost acting as a defense.

But Oromis was not finished. "I doubt very much that, if you were anything like Morzan, that a lady such as Zoe would respect you as much as she does or that a dragon would choose you." Murtagh raised his eyes and met the quiet gaze of the elder Rider. Oromis's silver eyes were never unguarded but they seemed to have softened.

"Your people did not see it that way."

Oromis shrugged, "You are my student, Murtagh, and you are now a Rider."

_What he is trying to say, _said Glaedr suddenly. _Is that it doesn't matter to us who your parents are anymore then it matters if it rains on the second Saturday in March. _

Murtagh was silent. He was not often lost for words but he was right then and so he just inclined his head. Many things he would have liked to say and there were questions that suddenly rose within him but his voice had temporarily fled him. He could not imagine the guilt and pain that must still stir in this gold and silver pair when subject of Morzan and his treachery was brought up.

Oromis, however, moved to other topic quickly. "You and Thorn have little time for training. Tomorrow we will journey to Ellesmera and do are best in the time we have been given. I would imagine that you are anxious to return to the Varden?"

Anxious? He supposed that was a way of putting it although, right then, he something that was a thousand times more intense than anxious. "I suppose that is a way of saying it," he replied carefully. "As soon as I can I would return. I left many things…unfinished." What he really meant was the tasks he had left on Zoe's shoulders and, while he knew she was more than capable, it was still the things he had started and should be the one to finish.

"A great deal depends on Thorn."

"I know," said Murtagh and he felt a lurch in his heart at the thought Thorn leaping into battle before he was ready. "But everything seems to be conspiring against me – against us – and I cannot linger too long."

The elf just nodded. "I assume that I do not need to teach you anymore on the ways of battle nor the nature of world."

"No," said Murtagh as, with a familiar stab of sorrow, he recalled Tornac's teachings. "I have known battle and swords for my entire life and, despite his preoccupation with….with other things, Galbatorix ensured that I had an education."

"Then that leaves what you would call 'magic,'" said Oromis with a faint smile as if the word was so vague and so far from the truth of what was really magic that it was laughable. "I don't think this will take as long as you fear, Murtagh. May I see your hands?"

For a moment Murtagh very nearly refused. The question had surprised him and he was not sure what the point of looking at his hands was. It was Thorn, sensing his Rider's disquiet, who nudged him into reluctantly raising his hands, palm up towards the elder Rider. Oromis took his wrists gently, the elf's skin cool and soft although Murtagh knew he must be a swordsman that few would ever be able to match.

For a few long moments the only sound was the crackle of the small fire and Glaedr's rumbling breaths. Murtagh wondered, as he waited for the elf to finish his silent examination, what the elf would find written in the scars and callouses and lines that crisscrossed his hands. Zoe had once told him it was surprising the things one could find out about a person if they looked at their hand.

"You have endured much," said Oromis at last as he released Murtagh's wrists. "But I would say that, by nature, you are more a warrior then scholar and more commander then advisor, although you have a great deal of all of those. You do not mind danger but you are cautious in how you engage your foes." The elf's thin lips twisted up in a small smile, "But, when something you treasure is in danger, you do not hesitate to act even if the price of your action costs you dearly. You would rather be up and doing."

Murtagh could not contain a snort of laughter. "You see much," he said, "and more than I thought you would. Until very recently the thing I fought for most was my freedom – my independence – but that….that has changed."

Oromis dipped his head in understanding. "If it eases your heart at all," said the elf, "I see more of Selena in you then I do Morzan. For, while I never met her, Brom told me a great deal about her. Her actions speak louder than that, however, and she was a woman of uncommon courage and selfless sacrifice when it came to protecting the ones she loved." The elf raised a hand to forestall the protests already forming on Murtagh's tongue. "And I knew Morzan better than many ever did. He never saw beyond his own gain and he lacked even a shred of sympathy for the suffering of others."

_Morzan, _said Glaedr, _was not deserving of the power he gained through becoming a Rider. You have proved yourself worthy of it. _

Murtagh had been among noblemen, landholders, rich merchants, all his life from the parties his parents had hosted in the grand manor house to the days spent as the King's ward when Vivian had been his closest friend. Those early days had been filled with them: men who owned much, who bought and sold much, who were rich in the things of the world. He had learned a great deal about the manners and disguises of humanity. But Oromis was nothing like this. He talked with a kind of understanding wisdom that Murtagh had never encountered, and his eyes were deep whirlpools of knowledge and power. Murtagh realized that if Oromis sought something, it was not for himself. But he was someone of great power, that too Murtagh recognized.

And Glaedr….well the golden dragon was unlike anything or anyone that Murtagh had ever encountered or met during his short life. Saphira who he had always considered wise, seemed so young in comparison. Murtagh could not help but wonder at the idea that, if he and Thorn lived through this war and came out the other side free, then they might become a little like Oromis and his golden companion.

Murtagh bent his head in simple acceptance of the elf's words. His heart was still troubled – it always was – but these past few months and the friendships that had been extended and then tested in the heat of battle had done much to ease the shadow the young man had always labored under. Somehow, as he met the silver stare of the elf and then the liquid gold eyes of the dragon, he did not feel as worried as he had before. Maybe, as Zoe had told him many times before, he should have had more faith both in himself and those around him. This world was a far cry from the one he had grown up in.

_"Promise me one thing." _

_"What's that?" _

_"Believe." _

Oromis broke the silence a minute later. "When Eragon was my student I asked him why he fought Galbatorix," said Oromis as he added another piece of wood to the fire. "And I now I put that question to you: Why do you go to war?"

Murtagh snorted. He could think of so many reasons but when he answered his words were carefully chosen and he did not rush the answer. He could have told Oromis about his more personal reasons that included revenge and the promises he had made not only to Tornac, Vivian (just thinking of her made his heart clench as he recalled that day with perfect clarity) and, just as important, Zoe. But those were things he would not share with Oromis no matter how trustworthy or understanding the Rider was. They were things that only Thorn was allowed to know and Zoe, though he had rarely spoken of them to her. His answer to the silver elf was one a story he had once shared with Eragon and he hoped it would be enough for the Rider and gold dragon.

"I lived as Galbatorix's ward but I saw him very little except when I attended formal events where he was also in attendance. However, one night he invited me to dine with him. That night he told me many things and they were wondrous things. He spoke of how he would solve the problems faced by Alagaesia from poverty to sickness and how he would rebuild the Riders. His voice was magic, his words intoxicating and I left the dinner feeling as if my life's purpose was to serve the King. Soon enough I was sent for and the King, furious, told me I was to take a regiment of soldiers and destroy a town. I do not remember the exact reasons for this but, when I asked what I was to do with the women and children that lived there, he told me to kill them all. It was then that I realized that Galbatorix, as charming and powerful as he was, could never be a the ruler Alagaesia needed. That night, with the help of my mentor, I escaped Uru'baen."

"And that is enough for you?" asked Oromis and his eyes rested on Murtagh.

The young man knew that the elf was quite aware that he had not given a full answer but he did not press the issue. "For now," said Murtagh, "it is enough."

* * *

><p><em>Will he be all right? <em>

Eragon could not help but ask Saphira as he took one last glance back at the small, glittering gold of Glaedr. Soon they would be out of sight and Eragon could not help but feel a stab of worry as he recalled Murtagh's tense, farewell nod.

_Yes, _said Saphira, _he and Thorn will be just fine. _

_Are you sure?_

_Little one, _said the dragoness with a faint note of reprimand as she adjusted her flight course towards the Beor Mountains and the dwarven coronation that so much rested on. _Little one...do you really think that Oromis and Glaedr would not accept him as their student?_

_I am not worried about that, _said the Rider as he leaned against the warm scales of Saphira's neck. _I am worried about how others might see him – you saw what Blodgarm and his spell casters thought of working with Morzan's son._

_Few elves are left in Ellesmera, _reminded Saphira. _And Murtagh will be occupied for the most part with his training. He will not even have to encounter Islanzardi. When he returns with Thorn ready for battle, the elves might be more willing to look beyond first impressions. _

_Perhaps, _said the Rider but he could not hold back the note of doubt. He could not help but feel they should be doing something instead of quietly flying along. These past weeks had been a whirlwind of activity and now that he was finally alone with Saphira in the endless expanse of a starry night he could not help but worry about things.

_What inspired you to give him Zar'roc? _

_I do not know, _said the sapphire Rider as he recalled the snap decision he had made without really considering it. Something about the situation or perhaps because he had been thinking about it for so long before he ever got to the borders of Du Weldenvarden with his brother. After the hatching of Thorn, the sword had felt strange on his hip and the Rider had felt uncomfortable using it. He had, truth to be told, always felt uncomfortable with the sword when he found out that Murtagh was the son of Morzan.

_Do you think it wise to give it to him before we arrive at the dwarves? _

_Zar'roc was no longer my sword, _said the Rider. _Not that it ever was and I would rather use a lesser blade then carry one that did not want to be wielded by me. _

_Hmmm…._said Saphira and their conversation faded away. The only sounds the whoosh of air beneath Saphira's wings and the steady thump of her wings as she rode the swift moving currents of air. The Rider relaxed against her warm scales and, despite it, he felt his worries melt away for a few precious hours. He loved this feeling although he had only had a few chances to experience it. It made the entire world – his entire world that is – feel boundless and free.

The moon was high in the sky when Eragon next found reason to speak, _I wonder how Zoe and Arya are. _

_Busy, _said Saphira as she extended her wings to keep herself level over a patch of turbulent air currents. _But that is how they both like it. _

_And Zoe must be in Feinster by now, _said the Rider and he felt a stab of worry lance through his heart as he considered just what his friend might be doing right then.

_Little one, _said Saphira, _stop worrying over the lives of others for a little while. _

And, before he could say anything in reply, she swooped down towards the ground and then back up again as she started a complicated series of acrobatics. The thrill of it drove the worries away and, for a time, the two flew beneath the glimmering silver light of the stars and the thin sliver of moon. The dark ground beneath them flew by, shadowy and dark. Ahead, although they were cloaked in shadow, rose the Beor Mountains

They arrived at the waterfall entrance to Farthen Dur where they had once nearly been trapped by an Urgal army. They arrived just as the sun began to drop towards the western horizon and, when they slipped behind the thundering curtain of water, they were greeted by a welcoming party headed by Orik. The dwarf was outfitted in fine clothes and Volund, the ancient hammer of his clan, now rested by his side. The craggy face of the dwarf broke into a wide smile the second he saw Eragon who could barely contain his excitement at seeing his old friend. The last time he had seen him the dwarf had been struggling under the weight of his grief and the responsibilities that had landed on his shoulders. There had barely been time for words then and the Rider had missed the dwarf's humor and blunt honesty more than he had fully realized until he caught sight of him. Orik had guided him through his early days in Farthen Dur and done his best to keep him protected from the many factions that wanted to control him as Eragon struggled to keep his head above water.

"By the hammer!" said the dwarf and he stared wonderingly at the Rider and then grasped Eragon's arm in a warrior's embrace. "It is good to see you again, old friends. Too long has it been since we were last able to share words and a good pint of mead!"

"It is good to see you again," said Eragon and Saphira together, one out loud and the other speaking only to Orik.

Eragon continued, aware of the many dwarves gathered behind Orik that watched this exchange in silence. "I hope all is well with you?"

Orik shrugged, "It gladdens my heart to see you again. Our last meeting was upon the field of war and the shadow of grief lay heavy over it." The dwarf clapped his hands, "Come! I would be a poor host if I did not care for the needs of my guests."

As Eragon and Saphira followed their dear friend and host of the wide cavern, Orik whispered so quietly that Eragon barely heard the words even with his enhanced hearing. "Be careful. The rock is shaky."

The Rider glanced back at the following retinue of dwarves and he knew that the dwarf was right. The stability of the dwarven clans was shaky at best and the loss of their King at the Battle of the Burning Plains had done nothing to change this. If anything this had only made things worse and the Rider knew he and Saphira were walking into a rat nest of power seeking clan leaders and he had very clear instructions: Orik must become King. Hrothgar's heir was not only sympathetic to the plight of the Varden but he was quite aware of the importance of attacking the Empire now for the long-lasting safety of not only the dwarves but of the entire land.

The Rider raised one hand and rested it light on the warm scales of Saphira's scales as he walked beside Orik down the long tunnel that lead to the hollow inside of Farthen Dur where the shining city of Tronjheim stood. He would keep his purpose firmly in mind and not forget that, most importantly, Orik was a dear friend and there were some things that could not be forgotten especially when things got difficult and the pressure mounted. Not only that but he was a Rider and

As they emerged into the open inside of the mountain and Eragon's eyes fell on the brilliant city and the land that surrounded it where he had fought his first true battle, he felt his heart clench. Somehow he didn't think this would be as simple as Nasuada had told him it would be but far closer to the grim words that had been Brom's parting farewell: _Good luck boy. You're going to need it in spades and good helping of common sense which, I can assure, will be in short supply where you are going._

* * *

><p>Scrub. Rinse.<p>

Repeat.

Receive order. Follow order.

Repeat.

Up another staircase. Down a staircase.

Repeat.

For days I had run up and down stairs, washed copious amounts of dishes, made beds and watched my hands become increasingly red and chapped. I had kept my head bowed, never said a word and worked with the same quiet efficiency as if this kind of work was all I had ever known. I scurried around, winced whenever anyone of higher station (which was practically everyone) raised their voice at me or at someone around me. I collected my meager daily wages and I scurried back to the small collection of rooms where Marco waited for me.

And that was where I was now: walking through the sagging doorway to find Marco standing, waiting for me with open tension in his face and a cloak already thrown across his shoulders.

"Come on," he said the second he saw me. "Helvard is waiting for us."

"Who?" I asked with a faint, bemused smile as Marco took my arm and guided me back towards the street. He had grown more comfortable around me, more willing to speak to me as a friend and not a commander when we were in private. This was crucial for our play acting, our alter-egos, had to be people we lived and breathed even when we were alone and away from prying eyes. For, in this place, I was not the Zoe I really was. My name is Liana and that cannot be forgotten.

"Our other friend," he said with an emphasis on 'friend.' "I told him that a new…new friend had arrived and he wants to meet you."

I said nothing but, instead, yanked the dratted scarf I wore more tightly around my hair and continued walking beside him, one arm looped neatly through his. A misty rain was falling and I longed for someplace warm to put up my feet and pretend that I wasn't doing anything dangerous. How amazing, really, to think that a few relatively short hundred or so miles away there are friends and warm security. Over a wall, across some countryside and then there they are.

Safety.

Safety seems like such a strange thing to me now. I know not what safety is in this place and true, long lasting peace is very far away to.

And many thousands of miles more in the opposite direction, behind layers and layers of magical wards was a boy never far from my heart. His face troubled me sometimes, his warning words and fear for me making my heart clench but I did my best not to think about him. I did my best to ignore the voice that hissed at me I was being foolish and sounded so like him.

Every other night I would wait by an open window for the messenger bird that Brom sent to me with his coded time frame for how far the Varden had traveled and when their approximate time of arrival was. I would send my reply back with any new snippets of information that Marco and I had gleaned regarding the workings of this city. As the Varden moved closer, I became more and more worried about the prospect of a Shade being summoned and, while I had not voiced those worries to Marco, I knew I had to soon. I would need his help one way or the other if I wanted to remove that threat before the siege began.

I had not really been paying attention to where Marco was leading me when he suddenly stopped and I realized that, to my surprise, we had arrived at our destination. Before I describe it to you I want you to understand something about this entire business. The things that lead to the really important and crucial events are the things that happen in the quiet places, the places that people overlook because they are ordinary. Those with power in those high places glide along in their familiar patterns and often do not see the reality of the world.

And this was like that. It was a small house on a quiet, dead end street where Marco tapped the door three times and then stopped for a single minute before tapping once more. A moment later the door was flung open by a man in simple, work man clothes who greeted Marco with a jovial laugh. He smiled warmly at me and put on a rather convincing show of greeting me like an old friend he hadn't seen in ages. With hands directing the way and a large smile on his face, he ushered inside to a steamy kitchen with polished pots and pans that hung on the walls. A small bouquet by the sink spoke of a woman's touch though I did not see any sign of a wife or daughter as I slipped the hood of my thin cloak back. The place had a homey feel to it and, after the damp chill outside, it warmed me a little.

"You are Helvard?" I inquired.

"Yes," said the man as he gestured at the simple wooden table.

I examined this man who played at being a spy. He was an older man, rather round around the middle with a large smile that, now we were inside, appeared more nervous than jovial. His hands were clasped behind his back, a faint glimmer of worried fear in his eyes. Marco, on the other hand, just looked cool and very bored. The differences between them could not have been any more obvious but Helvard had his part to play and, as skilled as Marco might be, it does not always take great strength or courage to change things.

"It's a pleasure," I said as I took a seat and the two men followed suit.

"Marco tells me that you are planning something," said Helvard after a moment's pause and his hands, I notice, are clenched tightly together. He does not offer us anything to drink, clearly recognizing that we will not stay long at all and only refuse offers of tea or mead.

"We need to find out as much information about the workings of the castle and its inhabitants before the Varden arrive." I spread my hands out before me, "Specifically we are supposed to concentrate on the magicians Galbatorix has sent to Lady Lorana's Court. Other matters of importance include the number of watchmen, the best route to take from the gates to the Keep and any secret ways into the Keep."

Helvard was silent for a long moment, "Marco knows all about the watchmen and the magicians. But I…well I might be able to help you with a way into the Keep."

"You know a way?" demanded Marco and his eyes flashed dangerously.

To Helvard's credit, the older man just shrugged in the face of the younger's furious annoyance. "You never asked," said the man with a helpless shrug. "You have so many normal ways into the Keep, Marco; I didn't see the point in telling you. Besides I think it better to use this way as little as possible until there is a true need for it."

"That is wise," I said with a quick, sharp look at the still fuming Marco. "When the Varden is closer, would you be able to show it to me?"

"Yes," said Helvard with a bob of his head.

"We shall be in contact," I told him and his shoulders tightened slightly at the words. But I could not reassure him – I could not reassure myself – and I did not want him thinking that, if he did lose his nerve, that I wouldn't care or it wouldn't have an impact on the Varden's chances at winning this fight. The smallest of mistakes could spell disaster and he had to keep that in mind.

"Of course," said Helvard with only a faint tremble to his voice. But, to my surprise, his eyes lingered on my face when before they had barely been able to meet my gaze. "Forgive me Miss Liana, but are you also skilled with illusions like Marco?"

That was my first true hint that Helvard had a little more to him then met the eye. I could not help but smirk ever so slightly as I met the curious gaze that, for the first time, did not move away. A simple, cowardly man would not have been able to see that Liana was partly crafted from magic. Yes, he was not someone to rely upon when the going got tough but he was useful and clearly had his own gifts. Those gifts, I hoped, could prove very useful in the coming days and weeks.

I regarded him for a long moment and then, with a flick of my finger, I let the illusions fall away like a cloak. For a moment, the man saw me as I really was: dark hair that framed a high cheek-boned face with grey-blue eyes. For a moment he saw the truth behind the illusions and it made his eyes widen slightly in surprise but then I drew them back on, feeling safer when I had them around me. For, while the windows were steamed and there was no sign of an unwelcome presence, it was still the truth and I had to protect it.

"Till we meet again," I said formally and Marco rose from his chair to follow me out.

Helvard smiled at me a little and nodded to Marco. "Lady," he said by means of farewell and then he let us out back into the foggy, wet street, shutting the door behind us with a click.

"Well," said Marco, "that was pleasant."

I could not help but giggle at the note of annoyance in his voice and the sulky way he pulled his hood up. "Come on," I said with a smirk as I drew the scarf back on and raised the hood. I was looking forward to something warm to drink and my bed.

* * *

><p>My task for the following afternoon was to polish the glass on the lanterns placed at regular intervals along a corridor. The task was better than mopping more floors or making the bed of so-and-so who had to have this kind of pillow case and not this kind of comforter. I had polished five lamps and was working on the sixth, when he found me. I had seen him, heard his name and watched him interact with the various nobles and merchants that made up the Court of Feinster.<p>

"Girl," sounded a sharp voice from behind me. "Come here."

I turned and curtsied at the somberly dressed but haughty magician sent by Galbatorix to 'serve' in the Court of Feinster. He was not a pleasant man at all and I had only seen him from a distance during my time in the palace as a maid. As a magician he must be skilled enough but that could hardly make up for the flaws in his character and, during my brief tenure in the Keep, I had heard more than one ugly story about the things he did to those who crossed him. One older serving woman had sternly told me not to be 'drawn in by those tricks of his' and to 'keep my distance.' That was all the warning I had needed and told me more about his 'ways' then the original books ever had. All they had told me was of a 'group' of magicians in the Keep that had decided to summon a Shade and that was far too little information for me to really do anything with but provide a vague direction for my actions.

But here he was – ordering me to follow him and there was no way for me to refuse. Slipping my rag into a pocket, I followed the impatient man down the corridor and to a large door which he opened with a whispered word in the Ancient Language. He probably thought such a thing would frighten and intimidate me when I really just found it boring. I followed him inside, a knot of tension growing within me as I considered just why he would summon me here. I knew he had a connection to the Black Hand – was, in fact, the head of the Feinster order – and I was on my guard for anything to happen. Because – who knows? – I might have been found out.

The room was large and open with desks and bookcases along the walls. It was clearly a sort of office. I stood tensely by the door, my head bowed as I waited for an order that was sure to come. The magician gave an irritated sigh and snapped his fingers. "Clean that up," he said coldly as he regarded me from where he stood in front of one of the cluttered tables.

A stack of notes had fallen to the floor and, in the process, knocked over a crystal decanter of wine. The red liquid had fallen onto the papers and I had to carefully control my face so that it remained neutral as I gathered the stained the notes and righted the now empty decanter. As I carefully gathered the notes I could not help but study them and what I saw made my heart give a quick lurch. They were written in the ancient language and in places they were made illegible by the wine but they were clearly notes made about summoning spirits. They spoke of dark things, words and runes that bound and twisted things that should be left alone. But, as much as I wanted to, I could not read them properly and only glance for the magician was watching me with hawk-like eyes. I took out my rag and wiped up the wine that had splattered across the stone floor, it looked like bright red blood.

I stood and placed the neatly stacked notes on the table, my hand only lingering briefly on them. "Anything else, my Lord?" I inquired in a polite murmur as I lowered my eyes submissively.

"No," he said and I curtsied before moving past him but I didn't get far. An iron hard grip closed around my upper arm and I froze as the magician forcibly turned me. For a long minute he just looked at me with those cold, arrogant eyes but he did not try to reach out and explore my mind. He just looked at me and I, frozen, did not move or make a sound.

His lip curled slightly in a faint sneer, "What is your name?"

"Liana," I managed to say. He smelled like stale sweat and dead flowers, it made me want to gag. His breath was hot upon my face and I wanted to twist out of his grip but Liana would not do that. She would not fight this and so I would not even though Zoe – me! – hated how this man was invading my personal space. I wanted to fight him, reprimand him but I could not. There was no room for an insulted princess of Angard in this world.

"What do you do, Liana?"

"I'm a…a maid," I said in a stumbling voice as the grip tightened alarmingly. For a second I wondered if he would question that and if this entire thing had just been a trap to lure me in and then squeeze out my true identity.

But – by some strange stroke of luck – I was mistaken.

The magician sent me stumbling with a savage push as he suddenly released me. "Go," he said with a cool, dismissive flick of his fingers.

I left with a quick swirl of my dark, heavy skirts and, when I had put two corridors between me and that room, I stopped and leaned against a cold stone wall. My breath was coming in sharp, almost panicked gasps. With a quick glance around to ensure there was no one around, I gingerly felt for the soft crinkle of paper that I had slipped up my sleeve with my hand. My eyes closed and I breathed deeply a few times, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart until I was calm once more. There would be time to read them later and decide what to do about them. It was time, I knew, to tell Marco about what I knew was happening and now I had a reason to know this.

I wondered when the magician would realize that I had taken some of more notes and if he would know it had been me. It was lucky that the Varden would be arriving soon because the deeper I delved into this place, the more dangerous it became.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Apologies for this long wait! Again this chapter was written in the car and I am sorry I didn't get it to you all sooner. But I honestly didn't have time for anything - not even school! - and I have quite the homework mountain to deal with. But this is the new chapter and I hope everyone enjoys it. Such a big thank you to all of those who read, favorite, comment and follow this story. It really is for you and thank you for suffering through my grammar mistakes and long updating waits! <strong>_

_**Note: I have been messing with the time line. I know that, in the original story, Eragon took a few days to get to the Beors and that he didn't meet Orik in Farthen Dur. However, I changed that so that Eragon has a few more days in Ellesmera. He also flew with Saphira (instead of running) which cut down on the travel time and I thought it would make things smoother to just have Orik already in Farthen Dur. They will still have a chance to talk things over but I just edited out some of the original. Hope this isn't confusing. **_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**Booklover19: I can't believe I have written as much as I have! I am so glad you enjoyed the story and I hope you continue to do so. You are right: I am a perfectionist. There are times when that is handy and times it trips me up - writing can be one of them. Now that I have some more time to write again I will try to post more regularly and there is so much I could have happen in the next few chapters! Hope you enjoy this new chapter and look for another one soon :)**_

_**Nimtheriel: I am glad you liked the ending scene :) It was fun to write and, if I am honest, I thought of Eragon as the boy in the picture. Our favorite mad King still doesn't know that Murtagh is the new Rider and is probably pretty optimistic about getting him back. I have heard that 'Code Name Verity' is very good! Maybe once I finish this pile of homework I will have a chance to read it :) I also love writing POV from random points of view and I am sure that (once I screw my courage up again) there will be another Thorn scene. And I really think Zoe will stick with her Z and M and not find a new M. lol but I must agree it is a very fun thing to write a Murtagh x OC. **_

_**Yugi-Smallymcsmall: I am sorry - it has turned into a very long story. I am glad you like it and thank you for reviewing :)**_

_**Karma1385: No, Eragon did not give the sword to Murtagh. But he does in Chapter 74. :) I am glad you like this story and the twist on the original series of books! and thank you for reminding me I really should find someone to read it before submitting. I keep meaning to but I never get around to it. Again: thank you! and I hope you enjoy this new chapter. **_

_**Kxguldut: I am glad you enjoy it! :) It is a very fun story to write! haha I never knew that about her name - not sure how I missed it! Thank you for telling me...I guess I will just have to say that, somehow, she ended up with Katrina in this story! Thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!**_

_**Violet Reyes: Thank you for the wonderful review. I wanted to make Zoe a bit of a puzzle and I am glad you like the long chapters! Some of them are quite long but I enjoy that in fic and I think that it is only fair to the story not to shortcut on things like that. As for keeping myself motivated - it can be hard! but I guess I just enjoy writing this too much to ever really stop and the reviews help keep me inspired. I don't think I could write a book from scratch because its nice to have a time line already developed out/characters already created ect. I admire you for starting one! Once again: thank you for commenting on this story! It means a lot and I hope you enjoy this new chapter! :) good luck with your writing! **_


	77. A Game That Must be Played

_Well? How was it? _

_Don't ask, _said Eragon sourly as he thumped down on the soft bedding that had been arranged for the sapphire dragoness. They were back in the large, high ceilinged room where, during the few days after the battle of Farthen Dur that he had been released from Angela's care, he and Saphira had lived. It was a pleasant room with spacious balcony that provided just enough room for Saphira to take off and land.

Eragon could not relax.

Even here, alone with Saphira, he could not shake away his duties as Rider or the worries that plagued him and could not be easily resolved. His head ached and the words spoken by the various clan chiefs still ran through his head. Orik was a dear friend – a brother in some ways – but Eragon could not help but wish that he had somehow been able to avoid the lava field that was Farthen Dur. While Nasuada had done her best to fill him in on the various leaders and their goals, Eragon had found himself relying increasingly on the knowledge Zoe had imparted to him in Ellesmera and Orik's own warnings that he had delivered in a quiet study that had once belonged to Hrothgar immediately after their arrival. That conversation came back to Eragon then as he leaned back against Saphira's warm scales.

_"How could the clans come to such a point?" asked the Rider as he leaned back in the comfortable chair. Saphira could not join the two in their talk for the room – enchanted against eavesdroppers – was inaccessible to her bulk. She was listening through her link to Eragon as she rested her weary wings and satisfied her hunger instead. _

_"There have always been though who thought Hrothgar was wrong to shelter the Varden and agree with Nasuada's invasion of the Empire. Passions have been inflamed, old rivalries recalled and cowardice only serves to poison relations even further." The dwarf scowled, "They have blinded themselves to Galbatorix's threat." _

_"I hope you have a solution," said the Rider. Of course Orik would have a solution to this problem. _

_Orik sighed and said, "For the goof my people I intend to seek the throne myself. However, there are many who stand in my path. I need to know, Eragon, will you back me in this?" _

_Eragon regarded the dwarf for a long moment and he chose the most direct approach. Orik, he knew, was not one to bandy words with and the newly elected Lord of Durgrimst Ingeitum was even less inclined then usual. "Saphira and I did not fly as swiftly as the wind for no reason, friend." A rare smile crossed Orik's craggy face but Eragon raised a hand, "However I must be honest: A leader who is sympathetic to the Varden must be chosen."_

_The implications of his last statement were very clear to the dwarf and the Rider, as sour as the words tasted in his mouth, knew they had to be said. _

_"I appreciate your honesty and your friendship…but can I count on you not to turn against me, Eragon?"_

_"Orik," said Eragon gently, "I will back you as much as I can. You are my first choice as King and that is not just because you are a close friend but a wise and canny leader. However," and here Eragon could not help the note of desperation that crept into his voice, "my duty is to all of Alagaesia. And, while I cannot afford to offend you, your clan or the rest of dwarfdom, I have been charged by more than one power – some stronger then others – to ensure that, if it cannot be you, then another dwarf of similar views is elected." Eragon raised his hands to his face and rubbed at his weary eyes. Few would ever hear him be so open about these matters and few would ever hear him speak of his duty in such a way. _

_And Orik, to Eragon's relief, saw this – understood it without needing to ask or push against it – and his face softened. Those who said all dwarves were blind to the world around them, the Rider had reflected, were wrong. Some dwarves - the Orik's of the world – saw more than many who claimed to see all the workings of the world. _

_ "There is a solution, Eragon." _

_Eragon raised one eyebrow and asked, "And what do you propose?" _

_Orik leaned forward and met the intense stare of the Rider before him. "Trust me," said the dwarf quietly. "Trust me not to be blind and not see the truth that is before me. Trust me to do what is right as grimsborith of Durgrimst Ingeitum."_

_Eragon regarded the dwarf for a long minute. He wanted to believe Orik, wanted to set aside the words of caution he had heard from Nasuada and Brom but it was not as easy as he wished it was. However, as he gazed into the eyes of a friend who had always been honest with him, some of the worries that had haunted his thoughts on the flight to Farthen Dur melted away. _

_"Well?" asked Orik. "Can you trust me, Eragon?" _

_"Yes," said the Rider as he banished the last of his doubts and hoped, as he did so, that this was the right path. "I think I can." _

The Rider shook his head, the memory of the conversation leaving him as he returned to the present. _I did not realize, _said Eragon with a rueful smile, _just what Zoe meant when she said to be careful. _

The past two days of discussion had been dull and the Rider had struggled to keep himself totally focused on talks between clan leaders. He had been provided with a translator, but as far as he and Saphira could tell the clans had done nothing but argue about issues that seemed inconsequential in the face of the open war that loomed upon the horizon. Only Zoe's lessons and the patience that Oromis had drummed into his skull, had kept the Rider's face clean of emotion and his replies to any questions thrown his way polite. Despite the desire to slam the oak door on his way out of the stone chamber where the talks took place, Eragon had left quietly and only after he determined that the meetings had ended for the day.

_Is Iorunn still fascinated with you? _

Saphira's question made the Rider wince and the dragon chuckled. The dwarf woman was the grimstborith of Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn, a powerful, warlike clan, and she had made it clear, from the very beginning of the deliberations, that she intended to have the throne for herself. He had spoken with her once when  
>saphira and him had officially met the various clan leaders. The conversation had been exceedingly awkward for him. She seemed to have developed a fascination with Eragon – Saphira she had ignored – that he was unable to fathom. In every conversation they had, she insisted upon making allusions to the dwarves' history and mythology that Eragon did not understand but that seemed to amuse Orik and the other dwarves to no end.<p>

_Who is still against Orik? _

Eragon closed his eyes as he recalled the two dwarves who most opposed Orik's bid for the throne. Two other leaders had emerged: _Gannel, chief of Dûrgrimst Quan, and Nado, chief of Dûrgrimst Knurlcarathn. Nado has the most support and he is the most against contact with the outside world. He especially dislikes us. _

One clan was especially against the Rider and dragon. Az Sweldn rak Anhûin – a clan that Galbatorix and the Forsworn had nearly obliterated during their uprising—had demonstrated their implacable hatred of Eragon, Saphira, and all things to do with dragons and those who rode them during the last few days. They had objected to Eragon's very presence at the meetings of the clan chiefs, even though it was perfectly legal by dwarf law, and forced a vote on the issue, thereby delaying the proceedings another six unnecessary hours.

_Patience, little one, patience, _although Saphira's words could not completely hide her own impatience with the situation and she, like Eragon, was concerned about the clear animosity shown by the clan. They had many enemies and a dwarf clan did not need to be on the list.

_I only hope that – somehow – Orik will be able to secure the vote. _

Saphira was about to say something when a knock came at the door. Eragon rose, one hand falling to the hilt of his new-old sword, as he stretched out his mind to discover who had come a-calling. His brief inspection of the minds outside the doore was not surprised to find, as he opened the heavy oak door, a collection of dwarf warriors and a single messenger runner who bore the crest of Nado's clan. The Rider raised an eyebrow and, behind him, Saphira stood and moved closer.

"Argentlam," said the messenger in a slightly nervous voice as his eyes flicked to the giant blue dragoness who was staring at him. With a nervous cough the dwarf said, "You have been invited by the clanmeet to join them in a final meeting tonight."

_I didn't think was a final clanmeet tonight. _Eragon glanced at his four guards who stood close and were staring at the messenger with puzzled frowns. Clearly they also were shocked to hear that the clan leaders had decided to meet again. _Couldn't they think of a better reason to lure me away from you? _

_There isn't a clan meet, _said Saphira as she regarded the dwarf and his guards before her. _They are up to something. _

_Should I go? _

_It could be important…but you should only go if you take your guards and maintain your wards. _The dragon was silent for a long minute, _I would prefer if you didn't for I cannot come with you and I…_

She didn't need to voice her worries. He shared them.

But the Rider had already decided upon his course of action. The games being played around him had become far too tedious and he wanted to either end it or find out enough to discover what he was missing. As Eragon had come to realize these past two days, he did not know nearly enough about those who opposed him and made it their business to push against Orik, the Varden and the cause that they stood for.

_I will be careful. _

_Are you sure this is wise? _

_It may not be wise but I think it is a risk I have to take. They seem to underestimate us. _

_Then be ready to fight. _

_Tell Orik? _

_I will, _she said. _And if anything happens to you then I shall tear this place apart…stone by stone. _

With a quick nod Eragon said to the nervous messenger before him, "Lead the way."

Stretching out his mind to his four guards he told them: _Be ready for anything. _

He felt their unease and worry but the Rider was determined. As he followed the messenger and two armed guards that had accompanied him – another strange thing – Eragon paid little attention to the dwarves he met in the tunnels—aside from mumbled greetings that courtesy occasionally demanded. His entire focus was on his surroundings, studying them both with his senses and his mind. He kept track of the minds of every living creature he was able to sense within a radius of several hundred feet, even down to the smallest spider crouched behind its web in the corner of a room, for Eragon had no desire to be surprised by anyone who might have cause to seek him out.

And he had every reason to suspect that he was going to be ambushed.

This was the poorest excuse for a trap he had come across in weeks and later he would laugh about it with Murtagh. For, as the two agreed, the dwarves must have thought the Rider to be a trusting idiot blind to every threat and Saphira nothing more than a fire breathing lizard.

The dwarves led him through Tronjheim on the path that the Rider was familiar with to get to the council room but – only confirming his already iron hard suspicions – they took a different corridor where they should have gone left and, while it could have been a more circuitous route, Eragon was quite sure it wasn't. These corridors led down and farther down where only dwarves searching solitude or who had been exiled ever went.

And apparently those who wanted to kill a Rider.

Ah well, at least he was prepared for this ambush. He had never been prepared for Durza's ones. What was better? An opponent who had the grace to treat him as a semi-competent foe?

They came, at last, to a dusty room with five black arches that led to caverns unknown, while there to his right was a bas-relief carving of the head and shoulders of a snarling bear. Reaching out with his consciousness, Eragon probed the length of the tunnel and several of the abandoned chambers it opened to. A half-dozen spiders and a sparse collection of moths, millipedes, and blind crickets were the only inhabitants. But Eragon felt his instincts start to tingle as the three dwarves before him came to an abrupt halt.

One hand fell to his sword.

_Be ready, _he hissed to his guards. He felt them tense, the warning all they needed to be ready for battle.

The Rider's hearing was excellent. It was far better than these foolish dwarves had thought and, while many would not have caught it, he heard the faint scuffing from a tunnel to his right.

One quick look to the right confirmed it.

By the amber light cast by the flameless lanterns mounted on either side of the passageway, he saw seven dwarves garbed entirely in black, their faces masked with dark cloth and their feet muffled with rags, running toward his group. In their right hands, the dwarves held long, sharp daggers with pale blades that flickered with prismatic colors, while in their left each carried a metal buckler with a sharpened spike protruding from the boss. Their minds had an armor that was smooth and seamless, seemingly unbroken by the concerns natural to mortal creatures about to engage in a fight to the death. With a detached sort of calm, the Rider knew that this could only mean there was more behind this attack then just seven dwarves bent on killing a Rider. Something that, from the second the messenger had finished his missive, the Rider had known and he had a feeling he knew exactly what clan and clan chief was behind it.

The cool calm that had settled over the Rider deepened.

The spell came to his lips quickly, faster than speech or conscious thought, Eragon plunged his whole being into the flow of magic and only took long enough to say a few words that provided direction and structure to the flow of power. The effect was immediate but only his eyes, perfect even in the dimly lit tunnel, could see the change the spell worked on the ground at the entrance of the tunnel from which the armed dwarves were coming.

As he finished the spell, his left hand found the dagger slipped up his sleeve and the blade was thrown with a quick flick of his wrist, burying itself in the dwarf guard that had come with the messenger and had just been about to bring his ax down at the Rider. Murtagh's sword was out in another quick second and, as he met the other dwarf guard's ax blow, he broke through the messenger dwarf's wavering barriers and quickly knocked him out – the messenger falling limply to the ground as the Rider smacked the dwarf before him with the side of his sword and effectively knocking him out as well. The messenger and his two guards had not been protected like the seven running swiftly towards him.

The other seven dwarves reached the entrance of the tunnel.

And Eragon wanted laugh even though there really wasn't time to and most would not laugh when they were facing a life or death fight deep underground.

For, while these dwarves were warded against any direct magical or mental attack, they had not been protected against slippery floors or the dangers of tripping. Eragon supposed such things as tripping were not something assassins were supposed to do but how fortunate for the Rider that such things had been overlooked.

As the seven dwarves hit the suddenly slick marble, they lost their balance and tumbled forward, weapons flying out of their hands as they came crashing to the ground and skidded forward in a confused jumble of cloaks, weapons and limbs. Raising his right hand, Eragon quickly murmured another quick spell that he had learned from Brom some time ago. It was an efficient way of gaining a few seconds and confusing ones enemies. The spell raised the dust and dirt from the floor and spun it around like a dust storm. The dwarves, still struggling to rise after their unexpected tumble, vanished from sight in the sudden and magically created storm

This temporary relief provided the four dwarves behind Eragon with a chance to move in a tight half circle around the Rider. As soon as they were in place, the Rider let the magic fall and the dust settled back to the floor. Before them, hoods crooked and still desperately snatching at their weapons, were the would-be assailants.

Two of the seven lunged at Eragon with a speed and ferocity that Eragon found surprising but he did not let it unsettle him. Evading their blows and blocking one, the Rider grabbed one dwarf's wrist and, using the momentum of the dwarf's wild strike at him, managed to spin the dwarf around so that the strike aimed once at the Rider's back by the second dwarf found its mark in his own comrade. The blade, Eragon realized to his horror, was white and it was writhing as if it was a spectral flame. The blade pierced the dwarf's corded neck and, as the dwarf fell, Eragon glimpsed his contorted face and was shocked to see that enemy dwarf's throat was glowing molten red as it disintegrated around the dagger.

_So they can't touch me at all…oh Saphira you were right when you said I needed to be prepared to fight! _

Knowing he had very little time, Eragon stabbed at the second dwarf so quickly that the black-garbed dwarf had no opportunity to evade the blow and dropped lifeless at Eragon's feet. Murtagh's sword, while no Zar'roc, was beautifully cared for and dangerously sharp. He would have to tell Murtagh when he next saw him…

Those who had been knocked down and lost their weapons because of Eragon's meddling had regrouped. The Rider retreated several yards to give himself room to maneuver free of the corpses and settled onto the balls of his feet, automatically finding his fighting stance. He had noticed, as he walked down the corridor, that it was eight feet wide, which was wide enough for three of his five remaining enemies to attack him at once. They spread out, two attempting to flank him on the right and the left, while the third charged straight at him, slashing with frenzied speed at Eragon's arms and legs.

Before Du Weldenvarden Eragon might have been more concerned about dueling the dwarves as he would have if they wielded normal blades. But he was a much more confident warrior these days and, if his hosts were going to try and kill him then he felt it gave him license to play whatever card was needed no matter if it would normally be considered dishonorable. Durza's curse may have been the hardest experience of his life so far but it had also made him a much cannier fighter and the skills it had forced him to learn he would not have picked up otherwise.

The Rider waited until the very last second, his body totally relaxed but ready for the action he had in mind. Just as the dwarves lunged at him, weapons raised, the Rider leapt up and forward. In his leap, he spun and landed a few feet behind the three attackers. Even as they whirled toward him, he stepped forward and beheaded the lot of them with a single backhand blow.

Their daggers clattered against the floor an instant before their heads.

But Eragon was moving the second he finished that single stroke.

For, like any experienced warrior, he had not forgotten about the two enemies he still had left. He had not forgotten about how vulnerable he was to them with his back turned and three enemies occupying his attention.

The Rider dropped to the floor, landing on his hands and twisting his body so that he was facing the final two dwarves.

He was not a moment too soon.

Two daggers whistled over his head and fell with a clatter a few feet from where he lay. Had he not dropped to the ground then he would have found one buried in his heart and the other in his right side. But, again, the dwarves had forgotten or miscalculated just how quickly a Rider could move. These miscalculations were, decided the Rider, amusing in a sort of bad way. Clearly those behind this attack had forgotten a great deal about Riders.

Leaping back to his feet, the Rider noticed the pool of slick blood and that his four guards had gathered around him once more although they left him enough space with which to fight. Pivoting on one foot, Eragon lunged forward and, at the last second, changed the course of his strike so that the point of his sword buried itself in the dwarf's left shoulder. The sudden change of direction was too fast for the dwarf and he was unable to block the blow. Murtagh's sharpened sword easily cutting through the light armor and black cloak. The dwarf stumbled, and Eragon's guards converged upon him, grasping the dwarf's arms so he could not swing his dire blade and hacking at him with their curved axes.

The last of his attackers raised his shield in anticipation of the blow Eragon was about to direct at him. However, Eragon had another plan in mind and it would have gone according to plan if the dwarf had not lunged at him right then and the Rider, trying to evade the dagger, was pressed backwards. He did not want to directly engage in a duel with this dwarf and his strange blade. For several yards, Eragon succeeded in evading him, until his heel struck a body and, in attempting to step around it, he stumbled and fell against a wall, bruising his shoulder.

With an evil laugh, the dwarf pounced, stabbing downward toward Eragon's exposed chest. The Rider rolled farther down the hallway, knowing that this time his luck had run out and he would not be able to escape. But he was going to damn well do his best to. He did not want to be the idiot Rider murdered because of some silly clan meet that was so inconsequential in the face of all the lives, duties and sacrifices that lay beyond these underground tunnels.

No.

No he was going to his damn best to get out of this mess.

As he completed a revolution and his face was momentarily turned toward the dwarf again, Eragon glimpsed the pale dagger descending toward his flesh, like a bolt of lightning from on high. And Eragon remembered Arya saying casually how those lanterns could explode if broken before being correctly deactivated. The casual conversation came back to the Rider in a brilliant flash of total panic.

The Rider knew he could move fast but he hadn't realized just how fast. Sometimes his new abilities – even after the past few weeks of intense physical activity – surprised him and this was one of those times. For adrenalin and sudden panic gave him a rush of wild energy as his survival instincts took control.

They told him to get away.

_GET AWAY! _

_FAST!_

Pushing himself as far away from the dwarf, the dagger and the lantern that was milliseconds away from being broken, Eragon's mad leap away was not a moment too soon and landed him with a sickening crack in the door frame of one of the archways. His face automatically turning to the dark wall as a booming report echoed through the hallway and, feeling as if someone were driving splinters into his eardrums, Eragon clapped his hands over his ears and curled into a ball.

When the noise and the pain had subsided, he lowered his hands and staggered to his feet, clenching his teeth as his various bruises and scraped announced their presence with a myriad of unpleasant sensations. Groggy and confused, he gazed upon the site of the explosion. As he took it in, the Rider thanked his lucky stars that Arya had told him about how dangerous the lanterns could be if broken.

The blast had blackened a ten-foot length of the hallway with soot. Soft flakes of ash tumbled through the air, which was as hot as the air from a heated forge. The dwarf who had been about to strike Eragon lay on the ground, thrashing, his body covered with burns. After a few more convulsions, he grew still.

Eragon's four guards lay at the edge of the soot, where the explosion had thrown them. Even as he watched, they staggered upright, blood dripping from their ears and gaping mouths, their beards singed and in disarray. The links along the fringe of their hauberks glowed red, but their leather under-armor seemed to have protected them from the worst of the heat.

Before he continued to move and potentially aggravate his injuries, the Rider catalogued his own injuries. He had a bruised shoulder and a few minor scrapes as well as a few burns across his back. The worst was his aching eardrums and the resulting headache from his collision with the stone of the archway which had saved him from the worst of the explosion. They were hardly serious but better to deal with them now.

Forcing himself to concentrate, Eragon recited the healing spells he had memorized all those weeks ago. The magic worked swiftly; healing his bruises, soothing his burns and repairing the damage to his ears. Another spell repaired his tunic for he had no desire to emerge from this tunnel looking like he had been involved in a fight to the death until after he spoke to Saphira and Orik.

Eragon sighed with relief as he straightened and then he turned his attention to his guards.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

The lead dwarf frowned, tapped his right ear, and shook his head.

Eragon muttered a curse and stretched out his magic so he could repair the damage done to his own guards. He felt slightly guilty, it had been his idea to come and drag these dwarves into this despite knowing that this was a trap. Therefore it was also his responsibility to make sure they suffered no lasting harm for his recklessness.

"Are you hurt?"

The dwarf on the right, a burly fellow with a forked beard, coughed and spat out a glob of congealed blood, then growled, "Nothing that time won't mend. What of you, Shadeslayer?"

"I am fine," said the Rider. "You four stay here. I need to get to Saphira and Orik." They were ready to argue and the Rider couldn't blame them for wanting to but he did not want to waste any more time. He felt as if they were running some sort of race and, for once, he was currently ahead. Besides, he hardly wanted Saphira getting anxious enough that she did start tearing Farthen Dur apart. Raising one hand he continued, "Stay here and guard this place. See that no one attempts to remove these bodies until either me or Orik give permission."

And then he was gone.

Spinning on one heel and sheathing his sword as he did so, the Rider raced up the corridor. His mind which he had walled up before and during the fight, opened once more to Saphira as he abandoned the barriers that had kept his inner thoughts isolated and protected. She flooded into his mind all concern, worry and fear.

_Eragon? Are you alright? What happened? _

_I am fine. But Saphira…I think I found a way to grant Orik the victory. _

The dragon saw into his mind – saw the fight and the way it had ended. _You nearly got killed. _

_I am sorry. _

_Oh little one, _she said with a heavy sigh, _I know why you did it and perhaps I shouldn't worry so. But next time…_

_Next time you will be with me, _his voice was completely determined.

He sheathed his sword and emerged out of the tunnel into a wide antechamber where Saphira was waiting for him with a very concerned looking Orik who was surrounded by a group of heavily armed dwarves. The Rider couldn't help the small smile of victory that touched his face for a small moment. It had been a dangerous risk – more foolhardy then he wanted to admit – but it had just pushed the game in a very new and interesting direction.

Tomorrow's clan meet would not be a tedious affair, he thought with a faint smirk. And, with a little luck, he and Saphira might be back in the air and a new dwarf King chosen before the moon rose the following day.

* * *

><p>Brom drew away from the scrying mirror.<p>

He could not scry his son or Murtagh or Zoe or really anybody that he really would have liked to have scry. All of those people were – quite wisely – warded against such enchantments and searching eye but he was able to scry Roran and his company of warriors. The man knew that he should keep any eye on the boy but Roran had been leery of any assistance Brom had tried to offer him and - when one thought about it - it really wasn't surprising. However, that day, what Brom saw was hardly reassuring: Roran was returning but his company was sorely diminished and the young man's face had been stony.

Brom stood. He had to meet with Nasuada and inform her of Roran's return along with the newest information sent by a swift messenger bird. Thinking of that information made the old warrior think of the young woman who had sent it, writing the symbols and words of the code they used to communicate in neat, clear handwriting. The man thought of her a little too often these days, worry eating away at his heart for her. He knew exactly what she was doing – what she was risking – and he knew just how important she was. He had spoken of it briefly with Arya but the elf had been occupied with her own duties and they rarely had a chance to speak.

And there was Murtagh. He worried for that boy and he found himself pulled in two ways for both the boy and Zoe had made him promise things that now seemed impossible. However, out of all of them, Murtagh was the safest. He was protected by layers and layers of wards, being watched over by Oromis and Glaedr and learning the ways of the Riders. Most likely, thought the man with a grim smile, the young man was going rather stir crazy at this sudden change of pace and of focus. Murtagh would never have known the kind of peace that was Du Weldenvarden and it might just be a little too quiet and calm for the young man.

Brom smiled slightly as he considered a few of the ways Oromis might try to direct the frustrated energy of a young man who would much rather be waving a sword around then mastering the Ancient Language. It would be good for Murtagh to spend a little time away from everything and everyone; perhaps it would let him see things with fresh eyes. By the dragon! There were times when the boy had been as blind as bat to the friendship and loyalty offered to him or even to the remarkable achievement that was his life.

And he wouldn't think of Eragon or Saphira. It was hard enough to see the illusion of Saphira and her Rider that the elven spell casters created to try and keep up the façade that they were both there. The apparition was flawless but it was not alive and therefore had no thoughts of its own. Because of this, the false Rider and dragon were often in the sky and, if they landed, it was only for brief 'discussions' with Nasuada. No, the man refused to let his mind linger on his son who was winging his way from clan meet to Du Weldenvarden and, if the fates were willing for his help was needed, back again for another damn battle. Brom couldn't help but selfishly wish the Rider wouldn't be back in time but that was such a selfish and wrong thing to think - for his duty hardened heard to feel - that he hadn't been able to admit to himself that he felt it.

Coming to a stop before Nasuada's tent the man nodded once to the guards before he swept inside. The young woman was sitting in her high-backed chair and, when she saw him, a smile broke out across her face. Brom knew that very few were aware of just how large a role he played in the Varden – something both he and Nasuada had never spoken of and was a slight point of contention between them.

"Any news?" she inquired as she rose and moved over to the long table where Brom spread out the letter sent by Zoe.

"Little," he said. "Roran's company is almost here and their numbers are sorely depleted."

"And from Zoe?"

"Only to confirm the placement of guards and other such details," said the man as he gestured at the letter. "I will leave it for you to review."

Before Nasuada could reply there came the sounds of approaching footsteps and then, after a few murmured words, the red tent flap was thrown open to reveal Martland Redbeard, Roran, and a man who Brom vaguely remembered from some place although he could not recall where. All three looked worse for wear and sported injuries clearly needed more care than what could be provided on the battle field. The elder man's narrowed as he took in Roran's bloody, worn appearance and the way the young man refused to meet his gaze. Roran seemed…well he looked like any young warrior who had just seen too much for him to comprehend. Brom felt sympathy rise within him but also worry for Nasuada was in the mood to be doing and these three men were clearly not.

Jormunder arrived a moment later and then Marland – whose right hand had been lost during the fight – gave the report. The man spoke of blood and fire and of the laughing dead – he spoke of it all with succinct professionalism. Brom only vaguely noted what the captain said for his entire focus was on the young man standing a foot behind the elder warrior. Once the report was given, the questions began and all three men were forced to answer. Although Brom noted how reluctant Roran was to speak and, when he did, his words belied the actions behind them.

When the questions were finished, Nasuada expressed her condolences to Martland for his lost hand, then dismissed Martland and the other man – Ulhart was his name – but not Roran, to whom she said, "You have demonstrated your prowess once again, Stronghammer. I am well pleased with your abilities."

"Thank you, my Lady."

"Our best healers will attend to him, but Martland will still need time to recover from his injury. Even once he does, he cannot lead raids such as these with only one hand. From now on, he will have to serve the Varden from the back of the army, not the front. I think, perhaps, that I shall promote him and make him one of my battle advisers. Jörmundur, what think you of that idea?"

"I think it an excellent idea, my Lady."

Nasuada nodded, appearing satisfied. "This means, however, that I must find another captain for you to serve under, Roran."

Brom interrupted right then. He saw where this conversation was going and he was quite worried about how dead to everything Roran was looking – how diminished from his usual strong self. Had the young man had a few more battles and patrols under his belt then Brom would have let Nasuada continue but Roran was clearly struggling to deal with the new world he had found himself in. It was one of those times when an older commander – someone who had fought more than two battles – would have left the matter alone until the person before them was ready for it.

"That is enough," said the older man in a firm voice. "Roran get gone to the healers and we shall speak of this tomorrow morning." He had long ago found that the only way to approach a problem was to be straightforward and this was one of those times. No one would gain anything by speaking to a young warrior when he was this exhausted and emotionally wrung out. No one would gain anything from making that warrior angry and frustrated or making them feel as if their actions counted for naught when that was not the intention of the commander.

Roran stared at him. Jormunder opened his mouth to speak but Brom waved one hand in a clear dismissal. Nasuada was staring at him and there was clear frustration in her eyes but it would take more than an angry Nasuada to worry the old warrior.

"Roran?" said Brom as he raised one eyebrow. "Go."

The young man glanced between him and Nasuada before leaving, clearly deciding he did not want to be embroiled in another battle. In the silence that descended upon the tent, Jormunder let out a quiet cough and made his excuses. Brom, meanwhile, was totally relaxed and gathered some papers together before lifting one causal eyebrow in Nasuada's direction.

_Ah how quick the young are to frustration and how blind they can be when they see nothing but the end goal. Come Nasuada - see what lies before you! See how easy it is to forget these are individuals and not paper cut-out soldiers who feel nothing? _

The young woman was glaring at him in open frustration. "Brom?" she demanded. "Why did…what were you thinking by…"

He cut smoothly across her. "Nasuada," he said, "did you not see his face? He was in no state for you to tell him he has more to prove just because you are a cautious person. In the morning, once he has rested and put some distance between the present and the past then – and only then. "

"You undermined my authority!"

"In what way?" he asked as he forced her to see that her frustration and her anger at him was unwarranted. She let out a long sigh and glared at him but he knew that she knew that she was in the wrong. "Nasuada," he continued, "there are times to give orders and there are times to wait. This was one of those times. You are well aware of how powerful Roran is within the Varden and it would not do to push him when he is in a fragile state. It does no good to push anyone in such a way - no matter who they are or what their rank is."

"I understand," said the young woman as she turned away from him. "And once more you remind me of the cares and duties of a commander."

"We all need some reminding," said the older man as he stepped towards the tent flap. "Good evening, my lady."

* * *

><p><em>Murtagh's sword held up well, <em>said Saphira as the Rider and dragon waited at the entrance to the tunnel down which lay the bodies of dead assassins.

Orik, his stoutest warriors and most adept spellcaster had just gone down to the site of the ambush, which they hoped to study and record with means both magical and mundane the fight that had occurred there. Orik had wanted Eragon to vanish in an effort to keep the attack a secret until the clanmeet, but Saphira had quashed that plan. For, as she pointed out, none of the places Eragon could go would accommodate her and she was not about to let her Rider out of her sight. The Rider saw the wisdom in the dwarf's plan but as he pointed out they could still keep the attackers uncertain and increase their unease if Eragon appeared both alive and completely relaxed as if he had not just been attacked and there was no sign of the assassins.

_Yes, _said the Rider in response to Saphira's words, _but I do not know how long it will manage to put up with the hammering. _

_You need a Rider's sword, _said the dragoness. She was feeling quite certain about the matter after her Rider's latest brush with danger and had decided that, if she couldn't always be with him, then she could at least make sure he was properly equipped to protect himself. And being properly equipped meant having a weapon that would not break or dull or otherwise fail her Rider when he needed it most.

_But how do I get one? Runon has sworn never to craft another Rider sword again…_

_Solembum's prophecy might hold the answer, _said the dragoness. _And Zoe did hint at something along those lines the last time we spoke…_

The sounds of footsteps coming from the tunnel made both the dragon and Rider tense slightly as they turned to watch the entrance. A few seconds later Orik, the spellweaver and a few guards emerged. Orik came directly to the dragon and Rider who watched him silently, both wondering if the dwarf would confirm the suspicions they had formed about who was behind the attack.

"This is bad business," said Orik with a deep sigh as he came to a stop beside the Rider who had risen from his seat on Saphira's right claw. "My apologies Eragon…you should not have been attacked thus. You are guest of mine people and those behind this attack have violated the law of hospitality." The dwarf shook his head.

"Did you discover anything on the bodies?" inquired Eragon. His curiosity was burning and he needed the confirmation for, while the messenger and his guards had clearly shown their allegiance, the assassins had not.

"They carried no marks upon them such as you would recognize, Eragon, but they did carry this." With something of a dramatic flourish, Orik drew out a bracelet made of braided horsehair set with polished cabochons of amethyst from an inner pocket. Clearly, from the way the dwarf was holding it up to the Rider, this was something of grave importance but Eragon was not quite sure what was so important.

"What does it mean?"

"This amethyst," said Orik - as if it were so obvious that one would have to be blind not to put it together - as he slipped the bracelet away, "this particular variety of amethyst, it grows in only four parts of the Beor Mountains, and three of them belong to Az Sweldn rak Anhûin."

Saphira gave a low growl but Eragon remained impassive, regarding his friend who was appearing more unsettled by the minute. Both Rider and dragon had suspected this but should their suspicions be proved wrong…well that was the more unsettling thought.

The spell weaver, a dwarf with a forked beard, stepped forward then. With a quick nod of his head to Eragon and Saphira, he spoke, "The spells on these weapons and on the . . . on the men, dwarves, be as it may, they must have required an incredible amount of energy, and I cannot even imagine how complex their wording was. Casting them would have been hard and dangerous. . . ." The dwarf's voice trailed off as he shook his head, the meaning in his words quite clear to all.

"Indeed," said Eragon, "they were unique and oddly powerful spells that had been cast for a specific purpose." The Rider shivered slightly as he recalled the glowing daggers, "But perhaps we should speak of these matters in a more private place?"

"Yes," said Orik. "I have left a guard over the bodies and two that you did not kill have been taken into custody." The dwarf began to move, the Rider and dragon trailing after him along with the spellweaver and some of the dwarf's armed guards. Orik led them through the wide chamber and towards a large archway, continuing to speak in a low voice. "We have much to do and little time in which to do it. Before the clanmeet resumes upon the third morning hour of tomorrow, we must attempt to establish beyond all doubt who ordered the attack. If we can, then we will have leverage to use against them. If not, then we will be flailing in the dark, uncertain of our enemies."

The dwarf came to a stop before a large oak door and pushed it open to reveal a sort of library combined with a study. The room was clearly rarely used and chosen only for its close proximity and large size. The place was just big enough for Saphira to curl up without hitting one of the tall bookcases or tables or chairs but a quick sweep of the place with his mind revealed that no one lurked in the shadows of the tall cases or behind the elaborate tapestries. Orik did not stop speaking as he sank into a chair and Eragon walked over to one of the large windows to gaze out over the quiet city. He longed for some open space after the dark, claustrophobic feel of the tunnels.

"A clan war was already threatening us, but now it stands upon our very threshold. We must move quickly if we are to avert that dread fate. There are knurlan to find, questions to ask, threats to make, bribes to offer, and scrolls to steal—and all before morn." Orik tapped one finger on a neat pile of blank paper and his heavy eyebrows drew together sharply.

"How do you see this…this event changing things?" inquired the Rider calmly as he brushed one of the heavy curtains farther open. He and Saphira saw one way this could affect the games being played but Orik might see another and the Rider would be aware of it now rather than later.

"I am not sure yet," said the dwarf whose mind was clearly onto what had to be done right then and not what might need to be done the following morn. He rose then, "I would ask that both you and Saphira remain here until I have news for you both."

The request was a small one and the room pleasant. There was, thought the Rider, no reason to leave it for neither he nor Saphira could do anything to aid in the search for answers.

_We shall wait for word, _said the dragoness as her Rider nodded his head.

They would wait.

But, with any luck, this wait would not be as long as it had seemed an hour before.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Helloooo my dear readers! I hope you are all well! Not as long a wait this time :) I know it is a little bit dull but I hope people enjoy it!<em>**

**_No Zoe and no Murtagh and my reason for that is: I need to get Eragon dealt with. Zoe's timeline is already ahead of where Eragon is and Murtagh will come back next chapter. Once Eragon is in Du Weldenvarden and that is going then I will go back to Zoe because, for her, the exciting things happen when the Varden is nearly at Feinster. Sorry if this is confusing but I was having so much fun writing her that I didn't want to stop! _**

**_Also: Roran hasn't been in this story very much. I hope to include him more but I assume that most of you know where/what he has been doing and I don't need to write a bunch of filler for you. However, that does not mean he shouldn't been in the story at all and he will be back in the next chapter. _**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Nimtheriel: I am glad to see you :) Angela won't appear until Zoe does in about two or three chapters - max! She is the best and I am really looking forward to having her in the story! I like your little poem and I agree - reviews can be hard but please write something! ;) Thank you and I hope you enjoy this new chapter! _**

**_Karma1385: Oh that sounds annoying! I am glad you got that figured out! I might ask you to proof read...thank you so much for being interested enough that you would ask! :) Hope you enjoy this new chapter! _**

**_Kxguldut: I am so glad you liked the last chapter :) I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Thank you for the review :)_**

**_Elemental Dragon Slayer: It is was hard to write the Oromis/Murtagh scene but I am glad that you think it worked out okay. I fluctuate between Mutagh the slow thawing iceberg and Murtagh the passionate fighter. He can be a bit hot and cold to write...And Zoe's close call...there will be more of those! But not for a few chapters :( but I guess that will make it all the more exciting! ;) Thank you for the review and I hope you don't mind this rather dull chapter..._**

**_Ray: I am glad you like it :) haha that can happen with fan fiction! You start reading more and more of it! Thank you for the review! Hope you like this one to!_**

**_booklover19: I am glad you liked it! I have got my inspiration back...which is awesome because I need it! Thank you for the review and I hope that you enjoy this new update...its longer than the last one :) _**

**_Niet boeiend: I am glad you liked the last chapter :) and I agree - that was a bit of dull chapter for Eragon and I hope this one is a little more exciting. And Zoe was going to carry her sword with her but just hide it but then decided it was too risky in case she was captured and her illusion was broken. Not many scullery maids run about with a valuable weapon ;) I have tried to diverge from the original plot line more and that is easier as the story progresses...hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for the wonderful review :) _**


	78. Choices Made

_Murtagh was dreaming. _

_But he had never dreamed a dream like this one. _

_He was standing in an elegant study. Through floor to ceiling windows the young man could see a green countryside that rose up to white capped mountains. He turned on his heel, his eyes taking in the bookcases that covered the walls and the delicate, almost fragile, carvings that decorated the slightly domed ceiling. It was a high-ceilinged room and currently flooded with golden sunlight that made the dust motes dance. Everything felt real and solid around him but he felt strangely disconnected from it as if he was not really standing upon the floor and not really breathing this air. _

_He had to be dreaming. This could not be real. _

_The set of polished oak doors suddenly opened and a man stepped inside, shutting them behind him. Murtagh was standing, frozen, for he did not know what to do – what did one do? – and then the man turned and caught sight of him. The two stared at each other, neither quite sure what to make of this very awkward situation. _

_The man before Murtagh was unlike any he had met before. His hair was golden; a circlet of polished gold matched his hair and glittered under the rays of sunlight. He stood still, unmoving, his stance cold but regal, holding an authority and power that Murtagh guessed few would ever challenge. His features were handsome but it was his eyes that Murtagh lingered on. They were a clear blue, impenetrable and far seeing. Those eyes were far older than the young, smooth face. They stared at him intently, unreadable, seeming to pierce through him, so infinite and full of knowledge and power. Those were like Zoe's eyes. His movements were surprisingly light and graceful. _

_That stare made him feel nervous._

_"Who are you?" asked the man in a soft voice. The sound came so naturally from him, the words perfectly pronounced one at a time, and yet there was such power in that soft voice. _

_"I'm Murtagh," he said, "and I think I must be dreaming. I have no idea where I am or how I got here." _

_"Really?" said the King before him and a faint glimmer of amusement danced in those eyes although his voice remained perfectly serious. "That is a problem. I was about to ask my guards in to explain why they let you into the High King's private study." _

_High King's private study? As Murtagh looked into this handsome face, he suddenly realized just who he was talking to. She had described him just like this and – because this was a dream – then anything was possible. "You are Pethred!" he gasped as his eyes suddenly raced around this room and the countryside that lay outside the tall windows. This was Zoe's home. This was Pethred – her brother! – and this…this was Prydain – a land that had only existed for him in Zoe's stories. _

_But the most important thing of all right then, and forefront in Murtagh's mind, was: this is the High King of Prydain. _

_The King raised one eyebrow, "And how do you know me if you don't know where you are?" _

_As he spoke, Pethred moved around Murtagh and took a seat behind the polished wooden desk and, with one elegant wave of his hand, he gestured at the chair before the desk. He seemed totally relaxed and his serene face unreadable but Murtagh knew that could change at a seconds notice. _

_Murtagh, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet, sank into it. How had he come to this place? How could this have happened? But his senses had not totally abandoned him and he managed to say, "I know who you are...well because of your sister. Zoe. I know Zoe." _

_At the mention of Zoe's name a sudden change raced over the young King's face. The hard crystal barrier suddenly shattered, the hands clenching the edge of the desk and a look of incredible worry and fear passed over the handsome face. The change took less than a second. Murtagh suddenly realized that few would ever see Pethred look like this. That all he had to do to break that seemingly impregnable barrier was mention Zoe. _

_"You know my sister?" demanded the young man and suddenly he was just that: a young man worried sick for the sister he adored. _

_And how did Murtagh tell this King – this brother – just what his sister was doing? How did he tell him that he loved her? He doubted that this warrior King, so strong and powerful, would take very kindly to some man from another world loving his little sister or that he would be at all pleased to hear that Zoe was running about in enemy territory. _

_"Yes," said Murtagh as he struggled to keep his composure in the face of this demanding presence. "I have known your sister since I met her a few months ago. Since then I have fought with her in two battles and have traveled a great many miles with her. She is a…a dear friend." _

_"And she is well?" breathed the young man as his gaze focused in on Murtagh. _

_The worry that Murtagh had been trying to suppress rose up within him. "I don't know," he said and he couldn't stop the frustration that entered his voice. "Duty sent us in different directions. Last I saw her she was well enough."_

_Pethred let out a shaky breath as he rubbed at his suddenly weary looking face. "Lucia and Eomund have all claimed to have seen or heard from her but I have not. Instead I get you and you are clearly not telling me everything." _

_Murtagh winced. _

_"It is alright," said Pethred and suddenly that formidable control was back as if the King was trying to ruthlessly suppress all and every feeling until he could be alone – Murtagh understood. He did much the same thing. Suddenly this King did not feel so distant and unreachable, the young man could relate to him in more ways than one. "Any news is better than no news at all. Tell me: what mad cap adventure was she setting out on when you last saw her?" _

_"A mad one," said Murtagh honestly as his face darkened at the thought of Zoe playing the game that had destroyed Vivian. "She is spying in an enemy fortress." _

_"Only Zoe," said Pethred in an exasperated voice, "but then again that is not as bad as I had feared. She has done worse." He rose then and walked over to the windows, his hands folded behind his back and his posture suddenly one of a warrior. "How well do you know my sister?" _

_"I think I know her," said Murtagh feeling completely overwhelmed by the entire situation. _

_Pethred seemed to be speaking for the sake of speaking. He seemed to merely want to talk about his sister and Murtagh was a willing listener. "My sister…she is always the strong one, the pillar that supports even when others would have buckled underneath the pressure." Pethred paused for a moment, "She is stubborn. Far more stubborn then Eomund or Lucia or even I and we are all stubborn but not like her. There is something in her, something in the center of who she is, and it is a fight that has never quite died no matter what storm has battered her – no matter what betrayal or failure she has endured." _

_He turned and looked at Murtagh and there was something in that gaze right then – a farseeing quality that seemed to strip the young man of every defense he had ever erected around himself. Not even Oromis or Glaedr or Brom had managed to look at him like this. Only Zoe – and now her brother – had ever had looked at him like this and he wondered this ability, this power that hung about both the sister he knew and the brother he had just met, suddenly. How did they do it? What was it about this family that gave them such power and command? _

_"I know," said Murtagh for that seemed to be the only thing to say although he would have liked to ask this King so many questions. He would have liked to have asked him about so many things – all the things that Zoe had hinted at and never explained. _

_But Pethred spoke again, "Murtagh, I cannot go with you to my sister but you clearly care for her. I ask one thing of you." _

_It was not a request, thought Murtagh, it was an order. And, strangely, from this King he did not resent it like he resented orders given by Orrin or Nasuada. _

_"Don't let my sister take it upon herself to save everyone – to set all the world right again and she would act as the shield, the only thing before the storm." Pethred's gaze was completely focused, a kind of passionate energy emanating from his tense form. _

_"I will do my best," said Murtagh simply and he was about to say more, to ask those questions, but he couldn't for something was starting to tug at him, a feeling as if he was being pulled away and upwards from this elegant study and this golden haired King who stood so straight and tall. _

_"I've got to go," said Murtagh as he stood from the chair reluctantly. _

_Pethred smiled slightly and a faint smirk flitted across his face, "Thank you Murtagh for your news of my sister and for listening." Then, those eyes meeting his own and pierced right through him, demanding and powerful. They would haunt Murtagh for a good long while as would the young King's next words: "Remember what I have asked of you." _

Murtagh woke with a sudden jerk.

He was back in his room in Du Weldenvarden. He was lying in his comfortable bed and Thorn was gazing at him in open concern from the circular dip in the floor where comfortable blankets and pillows created a sort of nest for the dragon.

_Murtagh? _

_Thorn, _he replied.

_What happen? _

_I dreamed, _said Murtagh as he rose from the bed and walked over to the open tear drop doorway from which he could look out over the quiet city of Ellesmera. Dawn was just beginning to lighten the eastern horizon, the first few streaks of golden light cutting through the inky night. _I dreamed the strangest dream of my whole life. _

Thorn crept up beside him and Murtagh absently rubbed the dragon's warm side. _Was it a bad dream?_ inquired the dragon.

_No, _said Murtagh, _it was not. _

But it was strange – it was so strange and so vivid. The dream was not fading away like mist in the morning sunlight as dreams usually did. This dream was sticking with him, every sensation and word and feeling as sharp and clear as if he was still sitting in that study. And he would not be forgetting it anytime soon. He could still feel those powerful blue eyes, recalled the gleaming gold circlet and remembered the green countryside. And he knew in his very heart – though it was a terribly familiar icy knife – that Zoe belonged there. Breathing that air, meeting her King brother and seeing her home – her true home – had only confirmed the things he already knew about her. She belonged there - like a key to a lock. that was where she belonged and, as much as he wished otherwise, he knew nothing could change that and had known it for a long time. She fitted there in a way she would never fit here. And after his brief glimpse into her world, Murtagh knew it even more than he had before.

_What is wrong? _

_Nothing Thorn, _he said as he forced the pain, the regret and the despair back into the dark crevices of his mind where he had kept it locked away ever since he knew just what it was he felt for Zoe. He was in denial and so, he thought sadly, was she. He supposed that one could live in denial for a time, keep those illusions in place but, eventually, they would be faced with the truth.

_It's nothing. _

Desperate for some distraction from his clammering, painful feelings and that dream, Murtagh turned his head and his eyes landed on the sword he had placed by his large, soft bed – an old habit he saw no reason to break. Walking over to it, picking it up, Murtagh returned to the edge of the wide tear drop opening of the tree house. The light was growing stronger and the first few glimmers of warm morning sunlight caught the gem and made it gleam slightly.

It was his sword now. His fingers itched to cross blades with someone, to see what it felt like to wield the blade that whenever he thought of his dead father was always there, hanging at Morzan's side. But even the sword named misery or the memory of the man who was his father, was not enough to distract him from the dream.

As he waited for the sun to rise enough to signal that it was time for him and Thorn to join their new teachers, Murtagh did not shift. The sword in one hand and his mind drifting along paths that Thorn found confusing. He wondered if it would have been better if he had not caved in to Zoe's instance that he come with them the night he first met her, Brom, Saphira and Eragon after the Ra'zac's attack outside of Dras'Leona. He wondered if it wouldn't have been the best thing in the end if he had never gone to the Varden, never been spy captain, never found Vivian, never stood by a slow moving river on a burning plain a few hours before a horrific battle and told Brom that he loved Zoe. Perhaps it would have been best if he and Zoe had never crossed paths, if he had slammed that door before he had even taken a glance inside like he had done for so long in his life. Perhaps that would have been the easiest thing for both of them.

But he hadn't. Somehow, somewhere, something had happened and he hadn't done any of that.

Thorn nosed his hand and hummed gently, _You wouldn't have met me. You wouldn't have found out that you could be more than what you thought you could be. _

_No, _he whispered in reply and glanced up at the horizon._ No I wouldn't have._ A sudden starburst of brilliant morning sunlight exploded across the slowly lightening dome of the sky and was followed by another and another. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, the light warm against his face. _You are right Thorn. _

* * *

><p><em>You will be taking your sword, <em>said Saphira as Eragon readied himself for the clan meet that morning.

They had spent the night in this peaceful study, Orik had dropped by briefly with news and a hammered out plan but otherwise the Rider and dragon had been left alone in peace. A dwarf had just stopped by with a breakfast for Eragon and a promise of something more filling for Saphira if the dragoness would step along to the giant dining hall. She planned to do exactly that once Eragon was off with his now doubled set of guards.

_Yes, _he said with a raised eyebrow, _of course I am taking my sword. _

_I only inquire for, if everything does not go to plan, you may be required to kill a certain clan chief. _She sounded a little to pleased about this possible turn of events for she had developed an undying hatred for that clan chief.

_Let us hope that it does not come to that, _said Eragon. _For I cannot think a battle breaking out in the clan meet would cast a favorable light on whatever monarch is elected. _

_Still, _said Saphira as she blew out a ring of smoke, _it is always wise to be prepared. _

He laughed and embraced her before he turned and left for clan meet that would be joining soon. One glance in the reflective window told him that his appearance was tidy and orderly. He would not normally have cared what he looked like but, over time, he had come to care more about what people's first impression of him was. And especially in this situation when so much rested on how one looked and acted…no he had come to be quite fastidious about his clothing and weapons although Saphira found it amusing.

The second he stepped outside of the room, his eight guards descended upon him and formed a tight circle around him as Eragon moved forward. Perhaps, he reflected, when he first came to Tronjheim he would have found being surrounded by armed guards incredibly unnerving but, in another testament to how much he had changed, it was just a mild annoyance.

As he walked through the marble corridors, the Rider reflected on the mental conversation that he had had with Orik the previous night. The dwarf had been cautiously excited for it had led his dwarves to an abandoned storeroom where they had captured three dwarves alive. After breaking into two of the dwarves' minds they had left the third for the other grimstborith to interrogate at their pleasure and took what information they needed from the others. It was these three who equipped the assassins for the attack, gave them the daggers and their black clothes, and fed and sheltered them last night.

And, after a little more digging, Orik had traced their orders back to Grimstborith Vermûnd of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. Eragon and Saphira's suspicions had only been confirmed. As Orik then had said, if the matter was dealt with properly then they might be able to not only expose the betrayal but turn the other Grimstborith to Orik's side. For, as Orik had explained, such a betrayal had not occurred in many long years. And, as outsiders, neither Eragon nor Spahira knew how abhorrent it was for a dwarf to attack a guest with the aim to kill. If war did come about because of the attack beneath the tunnels, then Orik would rather it was a war between the clans against Az Sweldn rak Anhûin and not one where the clans were divided.

That night neither Eragon nor Spahira had found any rest or peace of mind. They had spoken of a great many things and Eragon had alternated from sitting against Saphira to perching on the desk to writing scraps of poetry or personal reflections to reading some of the elegantly bound books in an arm chair to standing in front of the windows. He did not need as much rest as he had before the Blood Oath Celebration and, besides, he was too stirred up both from the fight and what it would mean to visit his waking dreams.

The Rider shook his head slightly and brought himself back to the present. His hand fell to the pommel of his brother's sword as he entered the round conference room buried beneath Tronjheim. His guards melted back, only his translator staying a respectful step behind, and Eragon knew that they would join the hundred or so warriors that Orik had stationed to the left and three doors down without the other clan chiefs knowing. The Rider desperately hoped it would not come to battle but if it did then there was little he could do about it.

Eragon stood with his back to the wall and watched with keen eyes as the various clan chiefs file into the round conference room buried beneath Tronjheim. He kept an especially close eye on Vermûnd, the grimstborith of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, but if the purple-veiled dwarf was surprised to see Eragon alive and well, he did not show it.

Eragon felt Orik's boot nudge his own. Casually, as if he was merely exchanging a polite good morning, Eragon leaned over toward Orik and heard him whisper, "Remember what I told you."

His voice barely audible, Eragon said, "If blood is shed, should I seize the opportunity to kill that snake, Vermûnd?"

"Unless he is attempting the same with you or me, please do not." A low chuckle emanated from Orik. "It would hardly endear you to the other grimstborithn…Ah, I must go now. Pray to Sindri for luck, would you? We are about to venture into a lava field none have dared cross before."

Eragon settled back into his designated seat. He had not prayed - well he hadn't done it for so long that he couldn't remember when the last time was - but now seemed as good as ever to throw some words up at the sky and hope, somewhere, a power heard his plea.

His fingers gripped the cold stone of his chair and, beside him, his translator began to speak in a low monotone. The Rider's intense eyes focused on the scene before him. Luck. He wasn't sure there was enough luck in the world to see him through this life of his.

* * *

><p>Eragon and Saphira's hope to be back in the sky by the time the first stars appeared in the night sky was a bit too optimistic. However, they would be winging high on their way to Du Weldenvarden by the following evening if the dwarves were able to organize Orik's coronation at such short notice and the star jewel could be repaired by Saphira.<p>

For now, however, both Eragon and Saphira were back in the quiet study where they had spent the previous night. While Saphira had heard through Eragon most have what had occurred during the clan meet, the two went over the happenings of the day once more for the dragoness was curious to hear more of the dramatic performance that had turned the normally tedious affair into something nerve wracking and unheard of in the history of all clan meets.

_And then, _said the Rider, _Vermund said that any clan that raised a weapon in attack against Az Sweldn rak Anhûin then they would consider it an act of war, and we respond to it with war._

_What did the clans do? _

_Hadfala asked him what he could have hoped to have gained by trying to kill me. Besides destroying any chance of unseating Galbatorix, she spoke of how you would fill Farthen Dur with a sea of blood._

_I would do more than that, _said the dragon with a faint curl of her lips. _But continue. _

_Orik spoke then, _said Eragon as he walked over to one of the tall windows and regarded a city buzzing with pre-coronation activity. Every dwarf seemed to be doing something and banners had been hung, garlands strung, lights glimmered up and down the streets and there was music and laughter. _Well, _amended the Rider, _he laughed and said that, if Vermund would consider any move an act of war, then they would not move against him at all. They banished both him and his clan until Az Sweldn rak Anhûin replaced him to replace Vermûnd with a grimstborith of a more moderate temperament and until they acknowledge their villainy and repent of it to the clanmeet. They will wait as long as it takes. _

_A clever solution. _

_Perhaps but I pity him. To be banished by the dwarves…when Vermund protested – no matter how vile his oaths – they ignored him. It was as if he did not exist – as if he had become no more than a bit of air. Until the clan repents for their actions then the no dwarf will recognize that they are there. Vermund, however, will always remain a betrayer and an outcast. _

_As I said: a clever solution to a very difficult problem, _said Saphira. _But you do not like it. Why?_

_I would rather be killed then suffer such a fate, _said the Rider flatly as he watched a dwarf string a row of colorful lanterns in a street below the study.

_But, in the end, Orik was chosen? _

_Yes, _said the Rider. _It was a near thing, however. First they broke with tradition by electing a leader so soon. Usually the vote is held three days after all clan members agree it should be held. But no one saw the need to wait any longer. _

_Orik won narrowly? _

_Very narrowly, _said Eragon. _But he won. Hadfala, chief of Dûrgrimst Ebardac, was the first to vote for him. That was a relief for she had been backing Gannel of Dûrgrimst Quan before the attack…it was clever of Orik to call the vote so soon after the exile of Vermund. It had unsettled them all and they did not have time to enter into any more secret alliances with each other. _

_Who voted for who? _

Eragon counted on his fingers as he went, _Gáldhiem of Dûrgrimst Feldûnost was next and he voted for Nado. Then Manndrâth of Dûrgrimst Ledwonnû voted for Orik. But then it was Gannel's turn. _

_He wields great power, _said Saphira, _as both chief of the religious clan and as high priest. _

_Yes, _agreed Eragon as he recalled Gannel, _the tension was so thick upon the air you could have cut it with a knife. When he voted for Nado…well I thought all was lost and then to have Ûndin of Dûrgrimst Ragni Hefthyn also vote for Nado…_

The Rider shook his head as he remembered just how tense and worried he had been. Any attempt at calming his outward appearance had been a miserable failure and his only consolation was that every other dwarf in the room appeared just as tense and worried as he felt. Every fiber of his being had been trembling.

_Then Thordris of Dûrgrimst Nagra voted for Orik. Nado voted for himself of course and spoke of how he would devote both gold and warriors to the protection of the dwarves and not to the protection of elves and humans…or us. _

_Who next? You are currently on the losing side of this contest. _

_Freowin of Dûrgrimst Gedthrall voted for Nado, a betrayal that hurt Orik deeply for he had promised to vote for us. But Gannel's choice held more power over him then Orik had originally thought it would. Orik then stood and voted for himself. He spoke of the threat of Galbatorix –the reality that the dwarves face. _

_Five to four, _said Saphira with an amused chuckle. _I am glad to know we won otherwise I would be telling you now that we were going to lose. _

_Havard of Dûrgrimst Fanghur voted for Orik next and that left Hreidamar and Íorûnn. Hreidamar is the grimstborith of the Urzhad and, of course, Íorûn of Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn - the War Wolves. That was in I was most worried, Saphira. I feared that Íorûn would vote for herself and Hreidamar would support her. Then she turned and looked at me and back at Hreidamar. _

_And Hreidamar voted? _

Eragon let out a whoosh of air as he recalled his utter relief at the dwarf chief's words. _He voted for Orik and then Íorûn made full use of her status as the deciding vote. She spoke of how unbecoming and disgraceful it was for a race as powerful as the dwarves to be content with skulking around in tunnels while other races decide the fate of the land. _

_A warrior, _said Saphira with an approving puff of smoke, _I am glad she at least sees the need for passion and fire in this time. _

_Her vote, _said Eragon with a grimace, _could not have been more important and I think her words were galvanizing enough that they should stick in the heads of Nado and those who supported him. She shall hold a place in Orik's council. _

_And then? _

_And then you know exactly what happened, _he said with a laugh. _Those monstrous drums made Farthen Dur ring and the mages were off to their scrying mirrors. And then all the clan chiefs swore fealty to Orik and Nado, although he must have been furious, did so without incident. _

_The Drums of Derva are most impressive, _said Saphira.

_Like all structures built by dwarves, _replied the Rider, _they are massive and made to be as impressive as possible. _As something of an afterthought Eragon mentioned, _ I need to alert Nasuada. _The Rider ran a hand through his hair and straightened his sword belt. There was an ornate mirror in one corner of the study and it was there that he headed. While not tired, Eragon did feel the strain of the day and, had duty not demanded it of him, he would have left the business of alerting Nasuada to the following morning. He did not look forward to explaining just how Orik had come to be elected so quickly. It had been long, turbulent day and, had things worked out slightly different the previous day or one single dwarf chief chosen differently….well it might not have ended so well.

Outside the study was a nation preparing for their new King but, in that secluded and forgotten room, all the hustle and bustle passed the two by for once. And, for they knew it would not always be so, the two enjoyed the brief reprieve from their normal duties. So long placed at the center of the storm and so long the focus of so many eyes, ears, hearts and opinions, both Eragon and Saphira enjoyed the peace and quiet that came so rarely these days.

* * *

><p>Nasuada was pacing the interior of her tent.<p>

Her blue silk dress swished around her as she moved. The intricate embroidery around the sleeves and the hem is done in gold and it neatly conceals the bandages that still encircled her wounded forearms. A quick glance in the large mirror placed in a corner showed a young woman, elegantly attired and looking ready for what may come her way. Her dark hair is piled nearly atop her head and the fine golden chair from which hangs a pendent her father gave her when she turned sixteen, flashes in the light that filtered through the walls of the red tent. But such outward appearances were just that – outward – and on the inside she did not feel nearly so polished and prepared.

Her thoughts were restless and troubled. Things seemed to sliding out of her control. Eragon and Saphira were in Farthen Dur, Murtagh and Thorn in Du Weldenvarden while Arya and her elven companions were occupied trying to maintain the illusion of the sapphire dragon and Rider. That illusion could not continue for much longer, she thought darkly. And there was Brom. He did his best but he was not afraid to challenge her, to contradict her and, while she appreciated everything he did for her and the Varden, there were times when she would have liked nothing better than for him to agree with her.

Then, adding to her fears and feelings of inadequacy that she tried so hard to stamp down, was the matter of Othmund, a man who had crept into the Urgals' camp the previous night and killed three of them while they were asleep around their fire. The Urgals had failed to catch him at the time but that had just meant that she had been the one to deal with him that morning. Gallows, blood upon the ground and the memory of Othmund's hatred…it haunted her for it had all happened just three hours previously. He had been hung for her crimes but it had done nothing to ingratiate herself with the Varden. Her control over them it seemed was as fragile as fine bone china. A slip of her hand and it would go flying out of her hand. But grip too hard and it would shatter.

And worse were her feelings towards the Urgals. She could not help but remember the carnage of the Battle of Farthen Dur or the still, bloody face of her dead father. Nasuada could not deny that she would never quite be able to let go of all of that past history. But her decision had been made. She had made it on the eve of a battle they had only just won. There was no chance of going back now – breaking her word now would be…

She is bound to the Varden. Nasuada knows that only death can sever her connection to it. Everything about her was intertwined with it. Inseperable. Unbreakable.

She shook her head and turned on her heel, cradling her still healing forearms with cupped hands. But her swirling thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a most unexpected and almost – for the news it would impart was so important - dreaded voice: "Lady Nasuada?"

She whipped around to gaze at the mirror which no longer reflected the inside of her command tent. Instead it showed the face of Rider Eragon who was gazing at her with intense, shuttered brown eyes. Behind him she saw the interior of a study and Saphira had curled herself so that she was also gazing at the mirror with one enormous sapphire blue eye.

"Eragon?" she asked in surprise. Her hands automatically clenched each other for she knew why he would be contacting her and the news he carried was so vitally important to the success of this entire campaign.

The Rider inclined his head, "Nasuada. I hope you are well."

The leader of Varden wanted to sigh as those discerning eyes swept across her and she knew that Eragon would see the lines of tension around her eyes and mouth. Once, when she first met him, she would have called him oblivious but now she wished he was not so perceptive. She did not want him seeing beneath her mask right then.

Her impatience and worry getting the best of her Nasuada asked, "I am well enough, Eragon. But, tell me, what news do you have? Surely a leader of the dwarves has not been chosen so soon?"

She knew dwarves. Oh gods she knew dwarves and she knew their politics all too well. Nasuada had fully expected the choosing of a new dwarf king to take weeks and weeks of pointless debate. To have Eragon contact her so soon…well she was not sure if he would tell her good news or inform her that she might not have him or Saphira back with the Varden for a good long while.

Eragon smiled, "A new King has been chosen, Lady Nasuada."

"Who?" she breathed as she unconsciously took a step closer. Her heart was beating very fast.

"Orik," said Eragon and it was clear from the way he said it that he was just as relieved – maybe even more so for he had been there and heard the arguments levelled against Orik – than she.

Nasuada could not herself. She rose on the tips of her toes and spun, lifting her arms above her head and, as she did, she laughed. The action, while so out of ordinary for her, seemed just so appropriate. For once – for once! – something important had fallen into place without her having to fight. Suddenly the dark clouds that had hung over her head, lifted and bright ray of sunshine fell upon her. Yes! For once! For a glorious moment she reveled in this feeling, this chance to smile and laugh because something had worked.

As her arms fell back to her sides, Nasuada could not stop the wide smile that made her face light up and her eyes brighten. Eragon was smiling back at her and she knew that he must be just as relieved as she was.

"How?" she inquired.

"It involved me nearly getting killed," said the Rider as if that was just the most normal thing in the world to say.

"What?" demanded Nasuada in horrified shock as her wide smile vanished in an instant as the meaning of the Rider's words hit her with the force of a battering ram. There went her joyful balloon of happiness as she considered just what the Rider had said and just what might have happened if Eragon had actually been killed. The faint smirk that flitted across his face made her temper suddenly flair. This was no laughing matter!

"Exactly," said Eragon, "I was just as surprised as you. But it appears we all underestimated the hatred of Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin for all things Rider and dragon. But their attempt to assassinate me and slaughter my guards turned out to be crucial for getting Orik the vote."

"They tried to assassinate you?" she demanded. "How is that a good thing?!"

"Peace," said Eragon with a placating raise of his hind. "Let me explain."

When the Rider finished, Nasuada let out a long whoosh of air. "How exciting," she said drily as she gathered her strained nerves together, "but I suppose that all's well that ends well."

Eragon shrugged, "I hope you will inform Arya?"

"Of course," said Nasauda with a brisk nod. "But Eragon, Saphira…when will you be coming back? We cannot continue to maintain the illusion and once we stop it we shall have only a brief period of grace before the Empire realizes I have not sent you and Eragon on a brief scouting trip. Galbatorix may or may not decide to strike while you are away, but every hour you are absent will increase the possibility. Also, I would much prefer to have the two of you with us when we attack Feinster." She paused for a moment and spread her hands out before her, "We could take the city without you, but it will cost us many more lives. In short, the fate of the entire Varden depends upon your swift return."

"We understand," said Eragon and she could see from the grim set to his face that he was quite aware. "As soon as we are finished in Farthen Dur, we shall speed to Du Weldenvarden and be back to the Varden as quickly as we can."

"Fly swift and true," said Nasuada despite the knot of worry that was growing within her. How she wanted them to come back now! To leave Farthen Dur and turn their course to the Varden but she would not demand that of them. If Eragon and Saphira believed that going to Ellesmera was the most important thing then she would not argue with them. They knew the stakes and the risks of the game they played. She was quite ready to admit that in some things they were wiser than her and certainly knew a few of the secrets Islanzardi concealed behind her magical borders that Nasuada had not yet earned the right to know.

"We shall," said Eragon. "Give my regards to Brom...and to Arya."

Nasuada decided not to comment on the pause or the way the Rider lingered over the name of the elven ambassador. She had her own secrets and so did the Rider. The conversation was over and, the second the mirror turned reflective once more, Nasuada had a page run to find Arya and Brom. Her orders delivered with a snap of her long fingers.

Her gown swished around her as she came to a stop before the large map of Alagaesia upon which brightly colored markers marked their plan of attack against the King. She saw all of it layed out so neatly and wanted to laugh at how far from neat this entire mess was. This map did not capture any of what was about to occur or had occurred. There were no bloodstains upon this creamy paper, no sense of the horror that this campaign would unleash or any sign of the resources lavished upon this campaign. One finger traced the path that the Varden would take to Feinster. The road seemed so short, a few inches of movement with her finger and from there…

But Orik was King.

That was a great burden from her shoulders and the darkness that had engulfed her that day seemed to breaking up a little. Tiny dots of light appearing like stars, and while she still felt alone, she was reminded that there were others around her. She might not be able to see them, to reach out for them, but they were there even though they often seem to leave her alone to fumble forward. She seemed to always be the one that went first, the trail breaker who did not know where she was stepping but only that it might be solid or it might be nothing more than thin air through which she would plummet. The tunnel twisted and turned, the tiny lights of hope and success providing the only illumination for her and sometimes they vanish completely and leave her alone in the endless, suffocating blackness. In those moments, she feels the most alone and the most afraid. She did not even know how far she has gone or come but only the direction she is moving in and not even if she will reach the end of this tunnel.

As she stared at the map, her eyes not really seeing what lay before her, Nasuada wondered what it would feel like when she came to the end of this tunnel – for she must come to the end sooner or later. She has long clung to the words spoken by her first governess: All things have a beginning and an end. She could only hope that she would come to the end. She imagines how, with one hand, she would reach forward and pull the heavy curtain of darkness away and it would fall away so easily at her touch.

There would be light on the other side.

The light on the other side would be blinding and warm and there would be love and hope. Maybe, whispered the deepest and darkest part of her heart, her father would be proud of her and everything she had done, fought for and stood for. He would pick her up in his strong arms and spin her around like he had when she was a little girl.

In that light she would stand and this endless night would be over.

* * *

><p>"So you're Eragon Shadeslayer's cousin?"<p>

Roran picked up a loose clod of black dirt and crumbled it between his fingers as he regarded the face of the soldier who had spoken to him. He supposed the dirt was too good to chuck it at the face of this annoying man who had asked him a question that Roran had grown quite sick of hearing. So, instead of chucking it straight at those curious eyes, Roran dropped it and looked away. He would not do the dirt the disservice.

"Yes," was his brisk reply and he pulled his horse, Cadoc, forward so he did not have to continue walking beside the man. The bay horse, finer than any horse Roran had ever owned or ridden in his life, had been a wedding gift from Eragon who had no need for the spirited horse now. Cadoc had taken some getting used to; the horse was battle fit and had not appreciated Roran's uneducated seat and hands. In fact, his first ride upon him had made Roran long for the gentle plow horses of his youth. However, the young man hoped that he and the horse had come to a kind of understanding.

As he walked forward, Roran could not help but remember what Zoe had said of his place in the Varden. She had explained it to him, broken it down in a way that made sense. He half wished he could ask her why Nasuada was so reluctant to move him forward in rank and increase his responsibilities after all he had done but Zoe was nowhere to be found. He had asked Katrina if she had seen Zoe but Katrina had shook her head and said that she had not seen the ever calm, ever controlled young woman who was usually racing about preforming innumerable tasks for Nasuada. Wherever Zoe had gone she was not anywhere were Roran could ask her to explain the politics of power that he had been swept up in. Neither was Eragon and Brom had only had a few words for him before Roran left on this latest patrol.

He wished he had had more time with Katrina but, as seemed to be the case these days, they could only catch brief moments together. Thinking of her made him wish desperately that he was currently standing with her in Palancar Valley and no one knew that his cousin was a Rider. He could almost see them standing in a field of barely outside his childhood home – neat rows of golden stalks shifting in the breeze – with the Anora River to the west and the snowcapped mountains rising high around them. Far away from Empire soldiers and commanders that he did not agree with.

The young man shook his head slightly and kept walking. He would not be caught dawdling on patrol for his new captain had already disciplined him three times and Roran had his pride to think about. Captain Edric did not tolerate even the slightest deviation from the norm and Roran had the feeling Nasuada had placed him under Edric because she wanted to see if he could swallow his pride. Roran was determined to do just that but he was unsure just how successful he would be.

Roran did not realize that, in his move forward to escape the annoying presence of the soldier, that he had found himself walking beside their accompanying magician, Carn, and the spy that had recently returned from his mission and had given them both the current location of Galbatorix's force and the exact numbers. Since Nasuada and King Orrin had withdrawn the bulk of their forces from Surda, Galbatorix had apparently decided to take advantage of their absence and wreak havoc throughout the defenseless country, sacking towns and villages and burning the crops needed to sustain the invasion of the Empire. To deal with the problem, Nasuada had sent Edric's company to repel the soldiers. Carn, despite being a spell caster and therefore someone highly regarded by all, had become something of a friend to Roran.

Both the spy and magician had a weary cast to their faces. Though the spy's weariness was no doubt from the strain of his time spent pretending to be a loyal Empire soldier and then engineering his escape back to the Varden with information when his situation – Roran guessed – had become untenable.

The spy, who Roran had not yet heard anyone call by a name, cast him a searching look. "You are?"

For once someone did not know him! Roran could not stop the smile that briefly crossed his face and Carn, quite aware of Roran's frustration with being cousin to Eragon and also hailed as something of a hero for his deeds in Carvahall, openly laughed although he quickly stifled it with his sleeve. "I am Roran," replied the young man. "And you?"

The man shrugged and glanced away his face tightening, "Long story."

Carn glanced up at the noonday sun, the skin pulling tight around his drooping eyes as he squinted. "We should overtake them before our shadows are longer than we are tall."

"And then we'll discover whether there are enough of us to drive them away," muttered Roran, "or whether they will just massacre us. For once I'd like to outnumber our enemies."

The spy raised an eyebrow at his words while a grim smile appeared on Carn's face as he said, "It is always thus with the Varden. We never outnumber our enemies."

"We should mount up," said the spy as he checked his mount's girth. He glanced ahead with an unreadable look in his eyes, "We are getting close."

His words were echoed a minute later by Edric who shouted out: "Form up!"

Roran suppressed his dislike for the Captain as he mounted Cadoc and lightly touched his heels to the gelding's sides. The sudden leap forward as the horse surged beneath him was something that the young man was not sure he would ever get used to.

Six hours later, Roran sat on his mount, hidden within a cluster of beech trees that grew along the edge of a small, flat stream clotted with rushes and strands of floating algae. Through the net of branches that hung before him, Roran gazed upon a crumbling, gray-sided village of no more than twenty houses.

Roran had watched with ever-increasing fury as the villagers had spotted the soldiers advancing from the west and then had gathered up a few bundles of possessions and fled south, toward the heart of Surda. If it had been up to him, Roran would have revealed their presence to the villagers. He well remembered the pain and desperation and sense of hopelessness that abandoning Carvahall had caused him, and he would have spared them that if he could. And, if he could have, Roran would have asked the men of the village to fight with them. Another ten or twenty sets of arms might mean the difference between victory or defeat, and Roran knew better than most the fervor with which people would fight to defend their homes.

But his idea had been firmly rejected by Edric.

"We're lucky they're on foot," murmured Carn, indicating the red column of soldiers marching toward the village. "We would not have been able to get here first otherwise."

Roran glanced back at the men gathered behind them. Edric had given him temporary command over eighty-one warriors. They consisted of swordsmen, spearmen, and half-dozen archers. And the spy who sat his horse with an ease Roran envied and regarded the approaching Empire with that cool, remote expression. One of Edric's familiars, Sand, led another eighty-one of the company, while Edric headed the rest himself. All three groups were pressed against one another among the beech trees, which Roran thought was a mistake; the time it took to organize themselves once they broke from cover would be extra time the soldiers would have to marshall their defenses.

Leaning over toward Carn, Roran said, "Are they the Laughing Dead?"

Carn sighed. "I wish I could tell. Your cousin might be able to, but I am a poor magician, and I dare not test the soldiers. If there are any magicians disguised among the soldiers, they would know of my spying, and there is every chance I would not be able to break their minds before they alerted their companions we are here."

The spy moved his horse a little closer, "There are no 'Laughing Dead' as you put it, Roran. At least there were none when I left and I was not aware of any plans to create more."

As they waited for the Empire to draw closer, Roran recalled an incident that had occurred earlier that day when Roran and his men had first separated from Edric and Sand. They had reached nearly reached the birch trees when they encountered a group of ten or so Empire soldiers that Roran's men quickly dispatched. They were clearly a little squadron of men sent out to gather what information they could and then return to the main body of the forces. As Roran glanced around at the still faces, the blood that stained the rustling grasses, he had felt the familiar and rising tide of guilt and revulsion that fighting always raised within him. But, just as he prepared to give out his orders and move his men onwards, his eyes fell on the silent spy.

"What's the matter?" he inquired as he nudged Cadoc over the man who sat on his horse as if turned to stone.

The spy looked like he wanted to be sick, the first emotion besides cool detachment that Roran had seen on his face. "These," he said very slowly and then stopped looking even paler and more worn than ever, a kind of despair shining in his eyes. "These soldiers were the patrol I was assigned to. I didn't know that they had been sent out so far…" His voice had trailed off and an expression of terrible pain and anger had crossed his face briefly.

Roran had stared at him in horror. He thought it was hard to kill, thought that this entire business sickened him, but staring at the spy he suddenly realized that the guilt he, Roran, felt was nothing compared to what this man must be feeling. Suddenly, as he glanced around once more at the limp bodies, Roran of Carvahall realized he had not yet seen the true depths of war. He had not lied and betrayed his comrades to the enemy side, had never gone to battle against men he had shared a meal with every night. He had not pretended to be one thing to people who trusted him when, really, he was quite the opposite. Roran did not know these faces, did not know their stories. This spy, however, had.

"I…" began Roran but the spy had shaken his head and sheathed his bloodied sword.

"No time to waste," he said and turned his horse away without so much as a backward glance.

So they had continued but the event had remained etched in Roran's mind. He wished he could have thought of something to say to the spy but nothing had come to mind. In that situation he had been terribly out of his depth.

Carn spoke from his side, jolting Roran out of his thoughts, "This battle had better be won."

"You know we cannot win it," said Roran in a low monotone as the soldiers neared the village. "We are outnumbered and in the worst possible position."

"What would you do about it?"

"Not this," said Roran but he was interrupted by the spy who had come up beside the two men on silent feet.

"They have crossbows," said the man as if he was speaking about the weather. "I told Edric – yelled it at him – but he refused to listen and has not adjusted his battle plan accordingly. I do not think he believes that Galbatorix would outfit a small raiding force such as this one with crossbows and Edric believes my information is faulty. He believes spies are useless." The man's eyes flashed with anger for a brief moment and then it was gone.

"Crossbows?" inquired Roran with rising horror as he glanced back at his silent, tense men. Carn was staring at the spy, utterly frozen in his saddle.

Edric's plan had been to enter the village, not head-on, but rather veer to the left and ride around the buildings, so as to flank the soldiers and attack them from another direction. Sand would do the same to the right, while Edric and his warriors would drive straight into the village. His orders were clear: he and his men were to charge the western flank and cut their way through Galbatorix's troops until they rejoined Sand and Edric. However, Edric had not told Roran what he should do if riding straight up to the soldiers no longer seemed a good idea once he and his men were in position. And Roran knew that if he deviated from his orders, even if it was to prevent his men from being massacred, he would be guilty of insubordination and Edric could punish him accordingly.

Sweat sprang up on Roran's brow as he considered the new dilemma before him. In a low, slow monotone, he began to swear, cursing the soldiers, cursing Galbatorix, and cursing whatever whim of fate had resulted in the situation as it was. He was interrupted by a gentle tap on his shoulder.

The spy was looking at him intently as if wanting him to see some plan, some way out of this horrible mess. But he would not just give him the answers, he wanted Roran to find them on his own.

"What would _you _do Roran Stronghammer?"

As Roran stared at the spy he suddenly realized that the man knew both exactly who he was and what he had done. This man knew that Roran would do anything to save his men; that he had led men before and not been frightened of any potential consequences. He knew exactly what Roran would do for those he felt responsible for and that Roran was hardly impressed with his current commander's ability on the field. This man was an actor but, supposed Roran, he had to be to survive as he did.

Roran glanced back at the men behind him. In that instant, Roran decided that he would do whatever was necessary in order to ensure the Varden won the battle. He was not about to let the soldiers destroy his force with a single volley of arrows just because he wished to avoid the unpleasant consequences of defying his captain.

"I would give them different orders," he said honestly as he met that intent stare. "Orders that wouldn't get them slaughtered.

"If you do that," said Carn warningly, "you could be executed for disobeying orders."

"I can't just do nothing and watch them all get slaughtered!" Roran's voice was too low to be overheard but just as heated as if he had shouted.

"But I can do something," said the spy from beside Roran in that slow way as if he was trying to make them understand something all so simple that it was strange they had never understood it before. "My commander is not Edric and I exist as a separate force outside of the Varden. Spies work independently of the main army and do not answer to the same laws as you do…" The spy's voice trailed off suggestively as he met Roran's eyes.

"But…" began Roran as a thousand protest quickly came to mind and his pride firmly rejected hiding behind another.

Carn gestured at the unfolding scene and then back at Roran with clear urgency. The soldiers were nearly upon the village and would soon begin to search it for any lingering villagers. "Hurry up then, good sir."

Roran gritted his teeth. He would rather be the one to lead these men, would rather be the one to face the consequences of this plan but the spy was right. What was his plan? What plan could he conjure up in the limited time he had left. Roran's eyes alighted upon the bow and quiver strapped behind one of the men's saddles. Roran smiled. Only a few of the warriors fought as archers, but they all carried a bow and arrows so they could hunt for food and help feed the company when they were alone in the wilderness, without support from the rest of the Varden. The men could climb up onto the low but steep roofs of the houses and shoot down upon the men that carried the crossbows. Not only would they be out of sight but they would be safe from the bolts. Then, once the men began shooting, another company of warriors could use the distraction to their advantage and give the red-tunics a taste of cold steel but only if they used the narrow streets to their advantage. They could direct the flow of troops, block and trap them using abandoned wagons and the safety of the building's walls.

He told his idea to the spy and to Carn who nodded approvingly.

"But how," Roran said, "will we manage it? Edric left me in charge of these men, if I do not keep control over them and allow another to command then…"

The spy gazed straight at him, "Leave that to me. You lead the men as Edric planned and, before the real danger is upon us, I shall do what needs to be done."

"Leave what to you?" said Roran as he narrowed his eyes at the man. He did not know if he could trust this spy or if he even wanted to. It was his plan, he should be the one to suffer the consequences of it and what if the spy was wrong? What if there were no crossbows and Edric's plan was the right one?

The spy just shrugged, "Trust me. Trust me when I say that I shall ensure that your plan – a much wiser one than Edric's – is carried out and that this battle is won." The man glanced at Carn and for a long moment the two just stared at each other and Roran wondered if they were sharing words like Eragon and Saphira did.

But the two men broke the stare a second or two later and Carn spoke, "Then it is settled."

"You swear do to this?" demanded Roran of the spy. "You swear you will not turn against me or my men? Can I trust you?"

The man regarded him for a moment, "I swear it." There was no hesitation in his voice, not a single note of hesitancy and Roran, despite himself, found that he did actually trust his word. He knew Eragon or Zoe or Murtagh would have demanded an oath in the Ancient Language, but Roran did not know more than two words in that tongue and he was no spell weaver. He relied on his instincts and they told him that this was what he needed to do.

The three men turned back and watched the soldiers enter the village and then, once they had ensured there was no one left, they congregated in the center of the town where their captain stood, clearing examining the surrounding countryside for any hint of danger. The soldiers turned their backs to the Varden. Edric's plan had been to wait for them to do just that. In anticipation of the order to chrage, Roran rose up several inches in the saddle, his entire body tense and ready for action...

"Chrage," said Edric so calmly that Roran almost didn't catch the word.

But he did. And, with one last glance at the spy who nodded his head, Roran shouted, "Charge!"

"Charge!" shouted Sand on the other side of Edric, and galloped out of the corpse of beech trees along with his men.

Cadoc, at the touch of Roran's heels, leapt forward.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Long wait for this one but here it is! And next chapter we should be back in Du Weldenvarden and I don't think the wait will be nearly as long as this wait was. I've been trying to edit things down and shorten everything up so that it wasn't all Eragon listening to dwarves or Eragon waiting for three days for a coronation but it took me a while to figure out a neat, tidy way of doing it. So I hope people don't mind my alterations to the time line but I'm getting impatient to be back with Zoe in Feinster! But I promise: Eragon will be in Du Weldenvarden by the following chapter and within two he should have a new sword and we should also be back with Zoe! <strong>_

_**On another note: Roran's scene is a mix of original and book verse. I don't want to give you book scenes you have already read which led me to the creation of the unnamed spy and his influence on the events that, in the original story, had led to Roran's punishment for disobedience. **_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**PuppyLove10121: So glad you like it! Hope you also enjoy this chapter!**_

_**Nafsika: New chapter for you :) **_

_**Skoilr: Glad you liked it :) haha well we can't have too much Z and M can we? Glad you liked my attempt at the fight scene...always have a hard time with those. Hope your own story is going well and I hope you enjoy this new chapter! **_

_**Karma 1385: Thank you! Look for some bits and pieces that need some serious help coming your way :) **_

_**Elemental Dragon Slayer: haha was there ever any doubt that Eragon would not? Imagine what Saphira would have done if he hadn't! Glad you didn't mind the last chapter and thank you for reviewing! You've really stuck with this story - through the bad spots and the good! - and I love getting your comments :)**_

_**Niet boeiend: Dwarves...not the most exciting thing to write and I hope I saved you some boring reading by making Eragon recount the entire scene to you rather than have him sit through it. I always wondered why to and so I thought: why not give it a try? Seems like the logical thing to do when your fighting. Thank you for the review! **_

_**Booklover19: I am thinking I will start a new fic once I get to the end of Feinster. This one is just getting far too long and I know I would be a bit daunted! Hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you so much for reviewing :) **_

_**Kxguldut: haha well your wait is over! Thank you for the review! I hope you enjoyed the Roran segment and I shall do my utmost best to get him back in the story because you are right - he has a part to play and can't be forgotten! So glad you enjoy this story and I hope you also enjoy this chapter!**_

_**Awesome707: I am so glad you liked the last chapter...hopefully I can be a better updater so you don't have to keep re-reading everything! Thank you again and hope you like this chapter :) **_


	79. Chapter 79

The night air was cool against Eragon's face as he and Saphira winged their way towards Du Weldenvarden.

They had just left Farthen Dur and were still flying, with the utmost care, through the giant peaks and valleys of the Beors. The pair didn't worry too much about hitting the side of a mountain because Eragon's wards would alert them should they get too close but – as had become the norm – earring on the side of caution had become a priority.

_Well that is over, _said the Rider as he leaned against the warm scales of Saphira's neck.

_And a new dwarf King safely crowed and set upon his throne with the approval of…well most._

Eragon smiled at that. He was quite aware that, despite the many cheering thousands of dwarves and the wide smiles that had brightened so many faces, there were still some sore losers whose smiles and clapping had been quite clearly forced. But, for now, it appeared they would hold their peace and allow Orik to do what needed to be done.

_At least, _said the Rider, _you were able to repair the star sapphire._

Saphira chuckled at his words and tilted her wings slightly to the side to find a new updraft of air.

Saphira had fulfilled the promise she had made to Hrothgar right before they left Farthen Dur for the elves all those weeks before. Eragon had, if truth was to be told, not been at all sure she could manage the feat but he had, like he had many times before, underestimated the power a dragon did command. The Star Jewel that had been shattered when Saphira and Arya came to Eragon and Zoe's rescue when Durza had tried to break into the city mountain, had been painstakingly put back together in anticipation of Saphira's promise to mend it.

But, before Saphira had repaired the jewel until one could not have told that, at one point, it was a shattered ruin, Orik had been crowned. While the giant drums of Durva had beat out a solid rhythm, Orik's wife, Hevdra, had stood at the forefront of the congregation by the waiting throne that had been carried from its customary resting place underneath Tronjheim and placed upon a raised dais next to the star sapphire, facing the eastern branch of the four main hallways that divided Tronjheim. Orik, walking step by deliberate step, had walked from the eastern gate to the center of Tronjehim with thousands of dwarf warriors clad in burnished mail on either side of the to-be King's path.

The actual ceremony had been refreshingly brief and, according to Orik, far simpler than it usually was. However, the memory of what the Rider had seen would linger with him for the rest of his life. Gannel, stepping forward until he stood before Orik, had begun to chant in the Ancient Language although Eragon did not understand if it was a spell that was being wove or merely a request imbued with magical power. The words were directed to Guntera, the dwarves most powerful god, and, as Gannel finished with a request to the god that he bestow his blessing upon Orik, Thrifk's son, Eragon had wondered what exactly was about to happen.

What did happen – the last thing Eragon had thought would happen – was so unexpected and so strange that the Rider did not see what was happening. But Saphira had. She had nudged him and then, to his utter amazement, Eragon saw a disturbance among the tumbling flower petals that were being thrown over the gathering. The void outlined by the petals had assumed the shape of a person although they did not have the body of either a dwarf or man or even an Urgal. The god, if god he was, wore nothing but a knotted loincloth. His face was dark and heavy and seemed to contain equal amounts of cruelty and kindness, as if he might veer between the extremes of both without warning.

As he had noticed those details, Eragon had also became aware of the presence of a strange, far-reaching consciousness within the chamber, a consciousness of unreadable thoughts and unfathomable depths, a consciousness that flashed and growled and billowed in unexpected directions, like a summer thunderstorm. Eragon had quickly sequestered his mind from the touch of the other. He did not know what he had felt, but fear had gripped him, and he had looked at Saphira for comfort. She had stared at the figure, her blue cat eyes sparkling with unusual intensity.

With a single motion, the dwarves sank to their knees.

The god had spoken then, and his voice had sounded like the grinding of boulders and the sweep of the wind over barren mountain peaks and the slap of waves against a stony shore. And Orik had answered – and clearly the answer had been what the god had wanted for, without warning, the god had touched Orik's brow. Upon the dwarf's head the gem-encrusted helm of gold that Hrothgar had once worn appeared. And then, with no warning at all, the figure was gone.

The rose petals had resumed their fall uninterrupted.

The trumpets had blared.

Orik had risen and taken his rightful place upon on the throne.

But Eragon had remained very still and very silent beside Saphira. He did not know if what he saw was a god or merely an illusion of one. It could have been the ghost of a memory, a pale remnant of what once was that haunted the land, longing for the return of its power. It could have been many things and so he had stayed silent, only speaking with Saphira. He had remained quiet even as the dwarves around him had shouted "Nal, Grimstnzborith Orik!" And had only managed a single: "All hail King Orik!" because it seemed the right thing to do. Saphira had roared her tribute to the new King and released a jet of flame over the heads of the dwarves, incinerating a swath of falling rose petals.

Then Gannel had knelt before Orik and spoke some more in Dwarvish. When he finished, Orik touched him upon the crown of his head, and then Gannel returned to his place at the edge of the chamber. Nado approached the throne then and said many of the same things, and after him, so did Manndrâth and Hadfala and all the other clan chiefs, with the sole exception of Grimstborith Vermûnd, who had been banned from the coronation. Many more, including the guild leaders and other high ranking dwarven officials had then taken their turn to swear oaths to the new King. Eragon and Saphira, acting as Nasuada's emissary, had both formally congratulated Orik and promised the Varden's friendship. The words came to him easily, formulaic and spoken in a clear voice that all could easily hear.

Rider and dragon, thankfully, did not have to linger for the endless procession of dwarves and then even longer gift giving that took place during a massive celebratory feast. For, as had been arranged early that morning, Eragon and Saphira began the giving of gifts. Orik had agreed that they should leave as soon as possible and the best time to slip away was during the congratulatory period in which Orik both accepted gifts, rewarded those who offered them with rings and accepted their pledges of allegiance. But also, as Saphira had pointed out, the gift she would give Orik would be greater than any the dwarf lords and craftsmen could and it should, therefore, be the first one to be given.

When it was time, Saphira had stepped towards the carefully pieces together jewel and a deep silence had settled over the gathered dwarves.

_How did you do it? _asked Eragon.

_I do not know how I do such things, _said the dragoness. _You know that as well as I, Eragon._

The new Isidar Mithrim was not the same jewel that it had been before it was broken. Whatever magic Saphira had wielded had repaired it perfectly but darkened the pink until it was a deep red and shot it through with gold. The dwarves hadn't cared and some had called this new rose even more beautiful and perfect then before. They had cheered and stamped and shouted their thanks for so long that Eragon had wondered if they would ever stop. But Orik had calmed them and thankd Saphira eloquently for her deed.

And, sometime during the lavish gift giving and even more lavish feast that followed, Eragon and Saphira had slipped away. They had already said their true farewells to Orik and promises had been made to spend more time with each other when the dwarves joined the Varden. Eragon also carried a formal missive from Orik that was directed to Nasuada regarding the dwarves plan to join the Varden and assist as best they could. Thankfully, as Eragon and Saphira had departed, the true feast had begun and the dwarves were too lost in merry making to realize that two important guests had already departed.

_We will not have long in Ellesmera, _said Saphira.

_No, _agreed Eragon, _but hopefully long enough. _

The Rider sighed tiredly. He was weary and the comforting motion of Saphira's wing beats, the rush of air above his head and the starry sky was lulling him into his waking dreams. Beneath him and around him were the valleys and peaks of the Beor Mountains.

_Rest now, little one. You won't have many more opportunities to. _

_True enough, _said the Rider as he slipped into his waking dreams. The rushing air providing a constant sound track to the images that played out before him.

When he next became aware it was just as dawn sent out its first few rays of bright sunlight. Beneath Saphira, shadowed and barren, was desert and, before her, was a distant dark line of trees that Eragon's eyes could just make out. They had left the Beors and were now nearly halfway to their destination of Ellesmera. At some point Saphira's flight must have been sped by a tail wind.

However, not all was well. In fact, as Eragon became more aware of his surroundings he noticed the change in the air and the change in the way it sounded around him. No longer was it pushing Saphira along from behind and speeding her flight but it had changed course and now came from directly in front of them. It was now pushing _against_ the dragoness and, while Saphira was still making progress, she grew a little more tired with each rise and fall of her wings. This wind was not only making her fight for each mile she put behind her but testing the limits of her endurance.

_Saphira? Should we land? _

_No. _

_But…._

_My ancestors did not let a little breeze like this stop them from flying and neither will it stop me. _

Reluctantly Eragon accepted her words and settled for feeding her bits of the energy he had stored in the jewels carefully hidden and protected in the belt of Beloth the Wise. He knew better than to argue with her for, over the past few months of their relationship, he had learned that a dragon set on accomplishing something was a dragon that could not be swayed. And, in this case, Saphira was not going to let some 'breeze' (although Eragon would have called it a full force gale) sway her off course.

And, the following morning, exhausted but triumphant, Saphira glided over the quiet Craigs of Tel'nair. They had stopped only for a brief rest so that Saphira, her muscles trembling with the exertion of flyign, could eat and drink. Then they had stopped so that Gildarian the Wise, the elf who guarded Ellesmera, could grant them passage into the hidden city.

As the small cottage that Oromis and Glaedr called home came into view, Eragon caught sight of both the gleaming golden bulk that was Glaedr and a much smaller ruby red form that could only be Thorn. A smile tugged at the corners of the Rider's mouth. The sight was so welcoming and both he and Saphira felt their hearts lighten to behold it once more. It wasn't just that it was peaceful – so far removed from war and battle – or even that in its simple natural beauty it was far more appealing than any dwarven hall. No, realized the Rider with a surprised jolt, it wasn't any of that.

Neither of them had anywhere to call home. Saphira had never been at home in Palancar Valley and that home was no more than a memory for Eragon – one that taunted him with memories of routine, security and mundane worries.

But somehow - sometime during those weeks of training and learning - both Rider and dragon had found a kind of home in this secluded place and in the company of golden Glaedr and his silver Rider.

Yes, thought Eragon as Saphira opened her wings wearily to begin her descent, it felt good to be home.

* * *

><p>Roran woke with a groan.<p>

He was lying on the floor of one of the cottages, the sound of shouting and swords reaching his ears. His head hurt, in fact he hurt all over and the young man couldn't quite remember why he hurt so much.

"You're awake," came Carn's voice from above him. Roran opened his eyes and looked up into the smiling face of the magician who continued on, "Just in time to. We need a hero."

"How did I end up like this?" demanded the young man as he accepted Carn's outstretched hand. He felt unsteady on his feet, the world seeming to spin slightly as he found his balance. The magician gripped his upper arm tightly before slowly relaxing as it became clear that Roran would not fall.

"Long story," said the magician, "all you need to know is: we've taken shelter in various houses while the enemy regroups. Some of us our still firing down on Empire soldiers and Edric has been knocked unconscious by a blow to the head."

"And what about…"

Carn met his gaze evenly, "He is dead."

"Ah," said Roran. He wasn't really surprised to hear that. As he went to inquire further, however, and find out exactly how he had come to be lying on the floor of this cottage, Carn interrupted him.

"You have got to get going," said the magician. "There isn't any time to lose, Roran."

Roran knew that Carn was right. There would be time for questions later and he had quite a few. He had seen the initial clash of Edric's men but the last thing he really remembered with any clarity was a series of strange, metallic twangs that was followed by the screams of men and horses. Then, just as Roran and his own men reached the village, he had caught sight of a line of Empire soldiers all standing with apparent confidence before his head hit something and stars had briefly flashed across his vision.

Checking that his weapons were in order, Roran left the cottage and found that his men had quickly retreated into the maze of houses. They were clearly without any leadership and knew that they were terribly outnumbered. The men who had been stationed on top of houses where they could safely fire down on enemy troops, were nearing the end of their arrow supply. Outnumbered three to one and facing either a final charge straight towards death or a cowardly flight that, in the end, would be futile, the men not only needed leadership but hope and a reason to fight. In the face of the Empire soldiers, they had forgotten their purpose.

Raising his voice he called out, "Men of the Varden! To me!"

When the men who had heard him and were not currently occupied shooting at Empire troops, had gathered in a loose circle before him, Roran spoke. His hands, clenched at his sides, were sweaty. "Listen to me! We can still win this battle, but not by marching to our own deaths! You know how I came to join the Varden. You know I have fought and defeated the Empire before, and in just such a village! This I can do, I swear to you. But I cannot do it alone. Will you follow me?"

"You may count on me, Roran," said Carn.

Carn's words were all the other men needed. Despite not being a great warrior or a great commander, Carn held the respect and admiration of all for his feats of magic no matter how small they might be. None of the men in the company before Roran would ever willingly be parted from the only magician they had. Many were the warrior of the Varden who owed his life to a member of Du Vrangr Gata.

"Aye," said a man that Roran vaguely remembered was called Herald. "You may count on us as well, Stronghammer."

Roran patted him on the shoulder, than clambered into Cadoc's saddle again. The horse had been tied to the side of the house along with Carn's mount. Sweeping his gaze over the ten horsemen, he said, "Guard my sides and my back, but otherwise keep behind me so long as I am able to swing my hammer."

"Yes, sir!"

He looked at Carn and the magician moved forward a couple of feet. "Can you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Cast a spell to protect us for a little while from the bolts?" The magician looked dubious but Roran gave him no time to voice his doubts, "It doesn't have to be for long." The younger man rested a hand on the magician's thin shoulder and gripped it fiercely, "I have complete faith in your abilities Carn. You should to. Without you this day would already be completely lost."

The magician straightened slightly and nodded, "I shall do my best to protect you and those that follow you, Roran. But it won't be for very long and you must be prepared for when it ends because I can no longer hold it."

Roran nodded grimly and said, "Stay here. Don't move too much; conserve your strength. If you feel like you can't maintain the spell any longer, signal us before you end it. Agreed?"

Carn backed up a few feet into the shade of the house, "Agreed."

Renewing his grip on his shield and hammer, Roran took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. He saw his plan clearly in his mind but his abilities as a warrior – for he was still so untried on the field of battle – were paramount to its success.

"Brace yourselves," he said to the men around him, and clucked his tongue to Cadoc. He turned for one last time to the group of men that had rallied around him, "I will not see you all massacred. I will not lead you in a blind charge against the enemy and neither will I let you go before me as a shield. But you must trust me. What we will do next…can you trust me?"

He meant every single word.

Every single last one.

_Trust me. Trust me even though I could be wrong. Trust that I care for and respect you all and would not send you to a pointless grave for your willingness to follow orders. _

The men cheered, they called his name and shook their weapons. Their feelings quite clear and, in their faces, he saw trust and it sent a cold bolt of fear and panic through him though he tried to quell it. He would need every little bit of that courage for what he was about to do.

Raising one hand he called out, "Then follow me!"

He led the men to a dirt street that ran between the houses and faced the Empire soldiers once more. Five hundred or so of Galbatorix's troops remained in the open space, their shields raised protectively against the Varden arrows that still streamed down from the roofs. The sight of the men sent a lurch through Roran – it had been the spy who had relayed his orders and made sure they were carried out. As Roran and the men with him dashed from house to house, quarrels buzzed past them—sounding like giant, angry insects—and one even buried itself halfway through one man's shield. But, thanks to Carn, not a single one found its intended mark.

Using a broken wagon and relying on the arches to cover them and prevent the Empire from attacking, Roran and his men blocked most of the street. They continued to semi-block the other streets, doing their best to work under the constant threat of the Empire troops. And then, only when these tasks were complete and his men turned to look at him once more, did Roran take one last steadying breath.

Now it was time to fight.

They had done the preparation, given themselves every chance to win this battle and now all that remained was to actually fight it. He had done everything he could think of. His doubts melted away.

What happened next – the fight that happened – passed in a wild blur. Harald, a soldier, had said that they could not survive a full on battle charge in the few moments before blades met blades, but Roran had not had any doubts right then. Herald's words had not troubled him in the slightest. He told those who followed him to think of their families, their homes and their dreams. For, as he reminded them, the Empire soldiers were not fighting because their hearts told them it was the only way to keep both their families and their homes safe from corruption and tyranny. They were, despite their smaller numbers, stronger in the most important of ways.

In later years, when asked about that particular battle, all Roran would be able to recall is the sense of complete calm and competence that had filled him. Despite everything, despite yelling orders at men who leapt to obey, despite having his still unconscious commander moved to a safer location along with the other wounded even as the battle raged on around him and that…well that first charge when he faced Empire soldiers head on was something one didn't forget. He had been the one to first cross weapons with the Empire men for he had meant every word when he said he would be first to the fray and the last to depart.

And he remembered thinking as he raised his hammer to deliver the first blow was the face of the spy as the man had looked at him keenly and said: What would _you _do, Roran Stronghammer?

The man might be dead, shot through the heart by a bolt that might have been fired by a soldier that had known him when he worked as a Varden agent in the Empire forces, but those words and that face would stay with Roran long after the man was buried in a soldier's grave. Whenever he was faced with a particularly thorny problem or he found himself wanting to panic because he couldn't think of a single way out, he would hear them. What would you do? Throw your hands up in defeat and let everything go to blood stained pieces? Charge in like a bull in a china shop and end up dead by an executioners noose for all your troubles? Or would you take a look around a see the options before you? Would you use your head?

This was what he had done. He had made his choice and stuck to it.

Edric did survive – in fact that was where Roran was off to right now. The Captain had sent for him and Roran, despite injuries that had barely been patched up, knew better then to keep the man waiting. He ignored the protests of Carn and avoided the worried looks sent his way. He would face what came. For, better than any victory, was the fact that all of the men who had come to his call earlier had lived. If he was in trouble because of his actions then he would bear it.

Harald now walked beside Roran and Carn moved directly beside him as well. The soldier had been their when Roran, exhausted beyond belief, had sat down heavily on the edge of the battle. Now both he and Carn came with Roran and, despite himself, Roran was more relieved than he would ever be able to adequately describe. As they grew closer to where Edric had set up temporary camp, the number of dead increased and most of the still bodies wore the grey favored by the Varden.

The magician appeared gray-faced to Roran's bleary gaze. The healing he had worked on those men that could be saved if a little magic was used to stop the bleeding or steady a shattered bone or remove an arrow head had pushed the man's limits to the edge. Roran had never understood until he spent time around Carn just how powerful his cousin was when it came to the working of magic. What Eragon did easily and with a flick of his fingers would nearly kill Carn.

They found Edric and a great many of the wounded, in the bunch of trees where the Varden had hidden while they waited for the command to charge. Sand was barking orders a few meters away while Edric, propped up against a tree, delivered orders to a man who was supporting a wounded comrade. The few healers who traveled with the patrol were running from man to man and, at the sight of Carn, they all called out.

"Go," said Roran to the man. "There are those whose need is greater than mine."

The magician regarded him for a second and said, "Only if you promise to find me again. Your wounds are not light injuries, Roran, and need to be attended to. Think of what your cousin might say?"

Roran smiled weakly and said, "Of course, Carn." Then, softly so no one else could hear, "Later, after all this has settled down, I would like to talk to you about what happened after I was knocked out."

The magician raised and eyebrow and a faint, said smile crossed his face, "No." He shook his head, "You don't want to know, Roran."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because sometimes," said Carn, "it is better not to know. You have done nothing wrong and there are some things that should not be spoken of. This is something I never will speak of again."

Edric must have caught sight of him because the man called out in his impatient, rough voice: "Roran Stronghammer. Get over here."

Roran dearly wanted to talk to Carn more but he knew better than to keep his Captain waiting and Carn had already turned away. With Harald still walking a few steps to his left, Roran straightened his shoulders and walked over to the glowering, blood stained Captain. He came to a stop before the man and inclined his head in respect, saying nothing until he was spoken to. For a long moment neither man said anything, looking each other straight in the eye, and Roran was aware that the clearing had grown exceptionally quiet for a battle camp after a desperate fight.

"How many of your men are alive?" snapped the Captain suddenly.

Roran did not flinch nor did he relax his tense, upright posture. "Most. Not all but most."

Edric nodded. "And Carn?"

"Alive."

A long pause of silence before: "You defied orders."

"I did not," said Roran calmly and as steadily as he could for he was aware just how precarious his situation – his men's situation – was and he would not fumble his next words. "I was knocked unconscious during the initial charge. When I came to I had no orders to follow for the situation both my men and I found ourselves in nor could I look to your for further commands. I tried to do the best I could."

"Then who," snapped Edric, "ordered your men in the initial charge? I find your story very difficult to believe."

"Forgive me sir," said Harald suddenly as he stepped forward. "But Roran speaks truly: he was knocked unconscious when his horse spooked at a cross bow bolt and his head collided with a roof beam." The soldier took a breath and then continued, "The man – the spy – took command then and ordered us to take shelter and to fire down on the Empire soldiers from the roofs of the houses."

Edric moved his fierce gaze from Harald to Roran who stood very still. For a long time there was nothing but silence and then: "And he is dead?"

"Yes," said Harald. "He was killed soon after he gave us orders."

"This matter will wait until we return to the main camp," said Edric at last. "Lady Nasuada will decide what punishment – if any – is due for your actions once your regained consciousness Roran. And those men who followed…the spy…will also have to give the Lady a full account and she will determine their fates." Edric turned his gaze back to Roran and an unreadable look crossed his face, "See to your men, Stronghammer."

Roran suspected those last few words would be the closest Edric ever came to approval for something he had done and it was only a small glimmer of approval surrounded by warning and open distaste.

But Edric had spoken words that Roran could not deny were true. Lady Nasuada was a commander in her own right and Roran dreaded what she might have to say about their actions and not only his own but his men's. What she might do about those actions sent a cold stab of dread through him. But he had done what was right and what was necessary. He would not be ashamed of it or deny it or try to hide behind the memory of a dead man.

The hot sun beat down upon the blood and the still corpses as Roran carefully picked his way back to his company of soldiers with Hereld directly behind him.

* * *

><p>My hands paused in their straightening of the tapestry.<p>

There was something that caught my attention and it was more than the pattern of the stone…or was that exactly what it was? Instead of being arranged in neat squares that matched all the other walls in the castle, there was an irregular pattern to these. Some of the stones had been cut in a very strange way and this gave the appearance of…well…I wasn't sure what they gave the appearance of.

I glanced at the narrow doorway but saw no one nor felt any approaching minds with my own. Letting the corner of the heavy fabric that I was holding in both hands go, I pushed at the stones that had caught my attention. They didn't budge. Of course Zoe, I berated myself, you are just imagining things.

Now instinct is a funny thing. It is a niggling feeling that makes you feel damn uncomfortable because you aren't sure about what you should do. The dilemma is whether you leave the matter alone and risk paying a dear price for that or you stick your nose right in and worry about being bit by your own foolishness. My instinct was being quite annoying in this regard. Part of me felt exceedingly foolish for staring at a bit of stone work and another was quite prepared to believe that there was something here and if I stared at it long enough I would find out what it was.

I pushed again at the stones. This time harder and with more insistence than before.

And something, after a few moments of futile pushing, gave.

The stones that I was pushing against suddenly shifted and I froze. No longer was I staring at smooth stone work but there was now the faint outline of a very narrow doorway. I pushed again and with a little more force, this time using a little magic to force the reluctant stone door open. The stone shifted and creaked a little but finally gave to reveal a dusty, dark passageway that was just tall and wide enough for one person. A set of stone stairs led into the darkness. From the dust that coated them and the force it had taken to open the door I guessed that no one had used this passageway for a good long while. The only reason I had been here was to thump the dust out of the tapestry that hung on one wall of this lonely, narrow turret.

But where did it lead?

It clearly went down but there was no telling either how far it went. Did it lead out of the keep altogether? Or did it lead to an equally forgotten doorway somewhere in the kitchens? Was this part of the passage way abandoned but some lower end of it used every day by busy servants and courtiers?

I sent a questioning tendril of magic out into the stuffy dark air of the narrow passage. I did not have long enough to actually find out where this led but magic was my friend then. My thread of magic raced down the narrow passage and found that it was completely abandoned and that it was a great deal longer than I had thought. Whoever had built this keep so long ago had built within it a warren of hidden passageways and this one had, by some stroke of strange luck, been completely forgotten.

It didn't just lead to the lowest floor of the keep but kept going until it finally came up in a dark alley a few streets down from the keep. My magic encountered a fairly solid paving stone and then, worried that someone might find me, I ended the spell. I stared at the open dark passageway before me for a good five minutes as I mulled over all the possibilities this opened up. The Varden were coming, a battle would be raged in this city, the magician was planning his evil welcome present for Eragon and I had just found a very interesting way out of the keep that no one seemed to remember was even there.

I pulled the stone door back using a little magic and then - done with manual labor - both cleaned and rehung the tapestry. I had to tell Marco of this discovery and I had to consider every possible use and situation in which this passageway could be of use. It is one thing to have a secret passage and quite another to actually use it in an effective and efficient way. Walking to the narrow window I opened the latch that held it closed and allowed a cool wind to slip inside the stuffy, narrow circular tower where I stood.

Sending out a thread of magic I searched the grey, rainy city that stretched out before me for a familiar mind. He should be around the main gates at this time of morning so that he could watch the flow of people into and out of the city. I found him where I thought I would, his guarded consciousness standing out to me against the moving and shifting seas of thoughts and emotions that passed around it.

_Marco, _I murmured.

_Liana, _he replied after a moment's hesitation. He did not know my real name and I didn't know his. But it doesn't matter - better and safer that way.

_Come here? _

_Where should I meet you?_

_The kitchens, _I said.

Our conversation was guarded and I would have known if anyone tried to listen in on it but I was a spy and, therefore, I was a paranoid girl. Even as I severed the contact with Marco I worried that someone – namely that magician – would have felt the vibrations of power that my small use of magic caused. I did not know how he would be able to sense them or even how he would link them to me but it still worried me – it terrified me. The cold wind that had brought rain and fog to the city these past two days made me shiver as I stood there for a quiet moment. But there were things to be done and I had no more time for lingering. Quickly shutting the window, I gathered my cleaning things and hurried back to the kitchens.

I waited for Marco in a doorway.

Behind me, quiet for a brief moment, were the steamy castle kitchens where cooks turned out the food eaten by the Lady Lorana and her Court. The steam and warmth of the stoves kept away the chill of the damp air. It had rained that day again and the sky was still a threatening iron grey. I leaned against the doorway and waited for him to appear. Surely it would be soon? We had plans to set in motion, things to discuss and consider and I did not have long before I would be called to perform some task or another. I did not need my hands slapped or worse for slipping away with a young man when I should have been working.

A few more minutes passed and then he appeared. He was carrying a load of firewood on his back – his way of fooling the Keep's guards into letting him in. Without looking my way, he placed his heavy load where the other wood was kept. He stacked it neatly and then turned around. As he turned, Marco straightened from his tentative gait, and his eyes met my own. The intelligence in it was formidable, as if a cover had been removed and the light finally shone free.

"Marco," I murmured.

"Liana," he replied. "Are you ready?"

"I don't have long," I said. "They will need me soon."

"Then come on," he said and offered his arm.

We walked out of the keep, nodding once to the guards who ignored us, and – as quickly as we could without attracting attention – made our way down the street as if we were walking towards the main entrance gates. Much of the city was enclosed behind a thick stone wall and many of the houses that lay beyond the protective stone now lay abandoned in the face of the Varden's campaign.

"I found something," I said quietly.

"What?"

I told him of the passage that I had discovered in that lonely and seldom visited tower. I told him of how it had led to a quiet alley a few streets down from the heavily guarded keep walls. A spark of interest grew in his eyes but his carefully guarded expression did not change.

"It could be useful," he said after a long pause.

"I know," I said as we paused in front of a shop window as if admiring the wares. "It could be very useful." Two suspicious eyed soldiers marched by us.

Marco and I shared a quick smirk before we both looked away and began to walk back towards the keep. It was starting to rain but neither of us cared overly much – both lost in thoughts of what was about to occur in these rain washed city streets and just how we might bring it about.


	80. Repercussions

Eragon and Saphira listened.

And, at long last, they began to understand. They began to understand the true scope of what they were facing, the source of their enemy's power and what exactly lay in the trunk Brom had had them transport to Du Weldenvarden. The magnitude of what was revealed to them was, at first, too shocking for them to do anything but stare in disbelief at their two mentors. It was easier for Saphira, she had always known about it in a way but never put two and two together. For Eragon, the words were utterly shocking and the revelation completely unexpected.

What had they said? What were these words spoken by a massive, glittering dragon with ivory teeth a thick as a tree trunk, his folded wings soft as suede and his claws like scythes? Or by the dragon's Rider whose silver hair gleamed like polished metal in the sunlight?

What was this about the souls of dragons long murdered in the Fall and whose bones had long been buried?

What were these words spoken in a grass-covered clearing by the edge of a cliff? A place set against the backdrop of the surrounding trees where a chuckling, gurgling stream wandered out of the mossy forest and passed underneath the roots of one of the pines before disappearing into Du Weldenvarden once again.

Eragon took a steadying breath. He had come to pride himself on his ability to remain calm even when his heart was pounding and his mind reeling. It would do no good to lose that hard won ability now but – by the gods! – he was struggling. "Ebrithils," he said very slowly, "can you repeat what you just said? I apologize but I find the entire…situation rather difficult to grasp at this present moment."

A faint smile that was both amused and oddly proud crossed the ancient elf's smooth face as he linked his long fingers together in his lap. It had been Glaedr who first explained the matter to them but it was Oromis who took it upon himself to reiterate the golden dragon's words – a task Glaedr would have found trying in the extreme. "Galbatorix has amassed such extraordinary power by harnessing the vast energy held within 'eldunari' or the souls of dragons. It is that power that created the remarkably realistic illusion that attacked both you and Saphira at the Battle of the Burning Plains and again at the Varden's camp. It is that power that grants him such total control and seeming invincibility."

One steadying breath.

Then: "And eldunari exist because?"

"A dragon's consciousness does not reside solely within their skulls but also in their chests in a hard, gemlike object, similar in composition to our scales, called the Eldunarí. A dragon can transfer their consciousness into the Eldunarí and, if a dragon has done this, the Eldunarí will outlast the decay of their flesh, and a dragon's essence may live on indefinitely. Whosoever holds a dragon's Eldunarí holds that dragon's very soul in their hands. With it, they can force the dragon to do their bidding, no matter how vile."

The implications astounded Eragon. The Rider leaned back in his chair and gazed unseeingly at the neat bowl of blueberries placed next to the crystal decanter of wine. So long he had wondered at the answer to this mystery. For so long he had tried to solve it – coming up with a thousand possibilities – but never had he imagined that the answer lay within in his own partner of heart and mind. Neither, for that matter, had Saphira.

_I have always known about my heart of hearts, _said Saphira to him, _but I never truly understood its full implications. _

_It is…it is good to finally know. _

Eragon lifted his eyes from the sparkling crystal and asked, "What will happen with the eldunari in the trunk Zoe found?"

"That has yet to be determined," said Oromis. "Brom told Islanzardi what Zoe found and that he would send it with you and Saphira. However, neither I nor Glaedr or any of the elves in Du Weldenvarden currently have the power to try and soothe the eldunari. For now, I fear, they shall have to remain where they are."

Glaedr spoke then: _I can sense them a little now. Their minds are full of madness and pain. It will take time for them to recover what was stripped of them._

_Knowing of this new crime of Galbatorix's, _said Saphira with a snap of her jaws, _makes me desire revenge against him all the more._

"So then," said Eragon who was anxious to steer the conversation away from topics such as revenge. "Galbatorix captured the Eldunarí for their power and wisdom but was there any other reason?"

_Anyone who holds one of our hearts,_ said Glaedr, _may communicate with the dragon from which it came without regard for distance. The whole of Alagaësia might separate a Rider and dragon, and yet if the Rider had with him his dragon's Eldunarí, they could share thoughts as easily as you and Saphira do now. _

"What can we do about this? What can any of us do about this?" said Eragon as he stood and walked to edge of the cliff. He was suddenly too restless to remain sitting calmly. The Rider glanced back at the black trunk sitting, its latches firmly closed, on the green grass. "We may have gained a small number of Galbatorix's eldunari but he must have hundreds more and it would be wrong to try and force them to do our bidding after their captivity. What chance do any of us stand against such power?"

Oromis was silent. Glaedr was silent.

The sapphire Rider and dragon both knew, without needing to hear it, that the answer could not be explained in simple words. None of them – from the golden dragon to the sapphire Rider – had the energy or will power to speak of the future after the past had been brought to life once more. They did not have answer for him right then and there was the chance that they never would.

Eragon let out a long sigh.

His worried, almost frantic, restlessness fading away as he felt the weight of the world come back down upon his shoulders.

"We shall talk about this in the morrow," said Oromis firmly. "You and Saphira have come very far in a very short period of time."

_You need time to think on what we have told you_, said Glaedr. _And Oromis and I are both aware that there was more to this journey then to hear us lecture you both once more. _

Eragon grimaced. He had forgotten about his desperate need for a new sword in the wild revelations of the afternoon.

Oromis was staring pointedly at his conspicuously bare sword belt and Eragon braced himself for the coming rebuke. "You gave Zar'roc to Murtagh, Eragon."

"He was meant for the sword," defended the sapphire Rider as he had done with Saphira when he had originally given the sword to Murtagh. "I shall find another to replace it with."

"That is not so easy to accomplish."

_Near impossible, _added Glaedr.

The weary Rider ran a hand through his hair, not carrying that the motion of his fingers through the strands was making it stand on end in awkward places. "I have a few leads," he said, "and I am hoping that with Runon's help I can put them in action."

"Oh?" said the elder Rider with a raised eyebrow. "I was not aware of more than two other swords that had escaped the Fall. One of those swords is here and the other lies many miles away in another of our cities."

Eragon made a snap decision. He had long kept Solembum's words to himself, only sharing them with Arya and occasionally asking Zoe but her vague answers had quickly put a stop to that. Now, he decided, it was time to share that which did not make his heart clench in agony or heat rise to his cheeks – not anything about leaving forever or loving someone of royal birth – but the words of places and items that confused him. Perhaps his mentors would see an answer where he saw nothing but confusing words.

As quickly as he could Eragon explained about that life altering day in Teirm and Solmbum's words about the Menoa tree and the Rock of Kuthian.

Oromis drew a finger across his upper lip, his demeanor contemplative. "I cannot elucidate either of his statements. I have never heard of any such place as the Vault of Souls, and while the Rock of Kuthian strikes a familiar chord in my memory, I cannot recall where I have encountered the name. I will search my scrolls for it, but instinct tells me I will find no mention of it in elvish writings."

"What of the weapon underneath the Menoa tree?"

"I know of no such weapon, Eragon, and I am well acquainted with the lore of this forest. In all of Du Weldenvarden, there are perhaps only two elves whose learning exceeds my own where the forest is concerned. However, I shall also send word to the smith Rhunön that she may expect you later in the day."

Eragon sighed. "What shall we do between now and tomorrow, Master?"

Oromis looked over Eragon and Saphira, then said, "Go and visit the Menoa tree; I know you will not rest easy until you have. See there if you can find the weapon the werecat enticed you with. When you have satisfied your curiosity, retire to the quarters of your tree house, which Islanzadí's servants keep in readiness for you and Saphira. Tomorrow we shall do what we can."

Eragon went to rise but paused, "How is my brother?"

The sapphire Rider had seen his brother but briefly before Murtagh and Thorn left for their tree house – their lessons finished for the day in the face of Eragon and Saphira's arrival. Murtagh had been laden with scrolls but his smile had seemed happy enough and both his and Thorn's joy at seeing both Eragon and Saphira had been a better welcome then any trumpets or fanfare to the weary pair.

A faint smile crossed Oromis's face. "Murtagh is an apt student and Thorn has doubled in size. I have never seen a dragon grow as quickly as him."

_Each day, _said Glaedr, _the bond between them grows and strengthens as it should. They are learning and growing together. _

Eragon glanced at the gold dragon but he was unsure how or whether he should voice his worries for his elder brother. At any rate the worries he had were not things that Oromis or Glaedr could do anything about and neither would Murtagh have wanted their assistance. Help, Eragon had come to realize, was not always as easy to give as one might wish to a person that seemed in need of it. And he, Eragon, was no exception to that observation. Instead the Rider settled for a safer reply: "I do not doubt he is an apt student. My brother is a master of many skills."

Oromis shrugged elegantly and then said, "Zoe indicated in her letter that she has entered the Varden's spy force. A dangerous move on her part and one she did not explain to me."

Eragon grimaced slightly as he recalled an argument he had had with Zoe over the matter. "She grew weary," he said at last, "of being at Nasuada and the Varden's beck and call. I believe she felt she could be more useful and attract less notice if she distanced herself from those of importance and influence. And with Murtagh's departure there was no spy captain of sufficient skill. The Varden is in sore need of one."

_She is hiding in the dragon's lair_, said Glaedr with a low growling laugh. _That hatchling never lacked courage. _

"Let us hope," said Oromis grimly, "that her cleverness and many skills can keep her out of the Empire's claws. It would do no good to be caught by the very dragon you hiding from."

Eragon felt a dull ache growing in his head and the once bright sunlight was beginning to fail as the sun slowly moved towards the edge of the horizon. He had heard so much, done so much these past few days and the list of what he had yet to accomplish had just grown longer by a good mile. The last thing he wanted right then was to worry over his brother or Zoe or the Varden or Brom...the list went on and each item or person on it was as important as the last.

With a brisk motion of his head, Oromis set his goblet on the table and moved his chair closer to Eragon. "The day grows old and both you and Saphira need to rest."

Eragon - on principal - went to argue that point but he didn't get a chance to.

Oromis raised a hand and his voice was kind, "Both you and Saphira are exhausted, Eragon. You both have had no time to rest since you left Ellesmera – quite the contrary. I see great weariness and care in both your hearts. A few hours rest in Du Weldenvarden cannot return your strength but it can ease the worst of your exhaustion and you will need all your strength for the coming days."

The silver eyes forced Eragon to acknowledge the truth of the elf's words. He could barely stand when Saphira lighted down upon the ground after the journey from Farthen Dur. These past weeks had been one constant blur of motion and it had worn both dragon and Rider down until they were running on nothing but the last dregs of their once formidable strength. Oromis had had to help Eragon rise when he half tumbled off Saphira and, when Murtagh had embraced him, the sapphire Rider had leaned gratefully against the solid and reassuring strength of his brother. Saphira to – always the one to tire last – had needed some of Glaedr's strength to ease the trembling in her muscles and soothe her ragged breathing. It seemed the long miles and hardships were catching up with them both.

"You are right," said both dragon and Rider although not without reluctance.

Glaedr chuckled and Oromis smiled as he spoke, "I would keep you here no longer, lest I interfere with what you have yet, but there is one more thing I wish to attend to before you depart: your hands, may I examine them? I would like to see what they say about you now." And Oromis held out his own hands toward Eragon.

Extending his arms, Eragon placed his hands palm-downward on top of Oromis's, shivering at the touch of the elf's thin fingers against the inside of his wrists. Oromis tilted them from side to side. Then, exerting a slight but firm pressure, Oromis turned Eragon's hands over and inspected his palms and the undersides of his fingers.

"What do you see?" asked Eragon

Oromis twisted Eragon's hands around again and gestured at his calluses. "You now have the hands of a warrior, Eragon. Take care they do not become the hands of a man who revels in the carnage of war."

* * *

><p>Murtagh rubbed his face tiredly.<p>

He had been in Du Weldenvarden for a few days now and already he found himself reluctantly slipping into a kind of rhythm that was foreign in its lack of anything dangerous. He knew where he had to be, that he would find neither backstabbing smiles nor suspicion there. Thorn, who was growing rapidly, liked to be there and his enthusiasm for each coming day that they spent in the company of the elder Rider and dragon spilled over into their bond and lightened his mood somewhat.

But still, Murtagh had not raised his sword either to fight or to duel during these past few days. He had not saddled a horse, faced an Urgal, slipped down a side alley or forced himself to down a tankard of stale, rancid ale in a smoky inn. And, despite his best attempts to be grateful for all his recent good fortune, the peaceful quality of this place was beginning to wear on him. The lessons were challenging and his new teachers as demanding as any he had before, but he was battle fit and chafing against the enforced quietude of study.

Murtagh suddenly wished he could talk with Zoe. He wished that the distance, layers of magical wards and the ever-present need for secrecy was not so great that they could not even send each other letters. The distance feels more pronounced despite the tenuous contact he has through Oromis to Islanzardi and the Queen of Du Weldenvarden to her daughter and from Arya to Brom and Brom to Zoe. It was such a tenuous contact and he did not feel comfortable inquiring asking Oromis of her specifically but, instead, asking only after the Varden in general or their plan regarding Feinster.

Rising from his comfortable bed, Murtagh wandered to teardrop opening that looked out over the forest city. His thoughts circled back to the dream – that living dream with the High King – and then back again to what his future might or might not hold. Thorn may have grown an alarming amount these past few days but he was still weeks away from battle and all Murtagh wanted was to be back in the middle of that chaos. He had never thought that he might ever want to be embroiled in that chaos but if it meant being a useful part of something vitally important and being also being close to Zoe...he would fight a hundred battles.

A sudden presence, the faint sounds of footsteps on the smooth wood stairs that led from the forest floor to Murtagh and Thorn's elegant and quiet tree house, interrupted his thoughts. His instincts twitched with alarm and one hand came down to rest on the pommel of his sword.

_Who is that? _

_Eragon, _said Murtagh to his dragon. He knew the feel of his brother's mind so well by now that it took barely a touch of his own mental probe to know who it was. Besides, he thought, who else would come to visit the ruby pair? Ellesmera had emptied of all elves willing and able to fight Galbatorix and those that remained did not often come to this part of the city where the tree houses set aside for Riders stood empty and ever waiting.

Murtagh left his scrolls and half-finished dinner on the bed, reaching the door before Eragon could knock. He was greeted by the weary but smiling face of his younger half-brother.

"Murtagh," said Eragon. "How are you?"

"Well enough," said Murtagh. "I would have thought you would still be speaking with them."

"We finished not long ago," said Eragon with a faint grimace. "I don't think Saphira or I could have dealt with much more." Before Murtagh could reply to that, however, Eragon said, "But I need your help."

"My help?"

"Yes," said the sapphire Rider. "Come on – you and Thorn – and I will explain on the way. Saphira is waiting below."

Pausing only long enough to buckle his sword, Murtagh followed his brother down the stairs while Torn leapt out of the teardrop doorway and glided down to where Saphira crouched.

_Murtagh, _she greeted before turning her attention to the red dragonling who had just managed a perfect landing on the lush green grass.

Walking beside Eragon, Murtagh waited for him to speak and, at last, he did. "I never told you about how I met Angela?"

Murtagh shook his head. He had never heard that story but then again he had never told Eragon how he had met the witch himself: lying on his stomach and screaming in pain. Some things he had not even told Zoe.

"I never told Brom either and have barely mentioned it to Arya and Oromis," continued Eragon. "But I am going to tell you the whole story." The blue Rider did and Murtagh listened quietly and without judgment until the end when Eragon fell silent. The only sounds were those of the dragons as they walked along behind them. The trees around them were silent and their branches obscured the night sky above.

At last Murtagh, struggling to find the right words and desperate not to say something harsh or foolish after such a personal revelation, broke the silence. "I do not know what to say to her predictions about who you will love or where you shall live out your days," he replied evenly, "but I would not discount them. Angela…she is remarkable and a fortune telling from her would be, I would think, as close to the truth as such things can be…I do not know what the Rock of Kuthian is or where it might be but what does the Menoa tree have to do with this?"

Eragon shrugged, "I am hoping I will find a sword there."

Murtagh looked away then. It was because of him that his younger brother was going to battle with no proper weapon. Meanwhile Murtagh, while properly outfitted, was sitting idle and useless behind magical walls – the situation was incredibly irksome. "I see," he said at last, "and you think Thorn and I can help?"

"I hope so," said Eragon as they suddenly emerged from the forest path they had been walking down and into the enormous clearing where the Menoa tree grew and spread its protective branches.

_Where should we look? _asked Thorn as he hopped onto a root the was easily four times his size and width.

_Perhaps, _said Saphira, _you could try a spell? _

"I doubt," said Murtagh, "that would work." Somehow, the ruby Rider thought, he very much doubted that any weapon hidden here was not protected by wards and that, even if it wasn't, no elf had ever come searching for it before. This forest was not as wild as it wanted to appear and wards of all sorts layered it.

"What kind of weapon could be here anyways?" asked Eragon as he reached down and picked up a stout piece of fallen branch. "Wood? Perhaps I should make a club…"

"That would be a terrible idea," said Murtagh sharply. "What good would a club do against Galbatorix? He has an entire treasure room filled with Rider's swords."

"He does?"

"Yes," said Murtagh as he hoisted himself up onto a root. "It is one of his many crimes. He took them from the Riders he and the Forsworn slaughtered during the Fall." Once he was sitting comfortably Murtagh drew Zar'roc out from its simple black sheath and watched the light play across the metal. Not really aware of what he was saying, Murtagh said out loud, "I always thought it remarkable to think of where the metal for the swords actually came from."

"You know?"

"Galbatorix told me once," said Murtagh as he turned the sword over in his hands, recalling the conversation in perfect detail. "He only told me that they were crafted from metal that fell from the sky – it was brightsteel from falling stars that struck the earth. I can't remember what name he gave it in the Ancient Language." The young man looked around at the twisting roots and the giant trunk of the tree that stretched up into the darkening sky. Thorn had leapt to one of the upper branches and was perched there like a bird.

Eragon glanced around, "You don't think that is what Solembum meant? Maybe I am not to find a weapon at all but what is used to make a weapon?"

Murtagh shrugged, "If you did find some of it then who would forge you a blade? Did you not say that the smith who made the swords swore never to make one again?"

"Runon did," said Eragon, "but perhaps she would find a way around her oath if I found some."

"If I were you," said Murtagh sensibly even though his words sounded far from sensible and more like downright mad, "I would ask the tree."

_The tree? _said Saphira in surprise. _Why the tree? _

"Because," said Murtagh, "surely the Menoa tree would know if there was bright steel buried somewhere in her roots and neither of you have the energy to try and find it through magical means." He rubbed one hand along the wood, "It feels quite alive this tree. It isn't like any of the others in Ellesmera. This one _feels_. Tell her of your need and," with a small smirk, "don't be rude."

Eragon looked up at the tree with clear hesitation. Then with a brisk nod he said, "Right, let's not waste time." With light footsteps, he ran up the root to the trunk of the tree, holding his arms out on either side to maintain his balance. Saphira followed at a slower pace, her claws splitting and cracking the bark she trod over.

Murtagh and Thorn watched the sapphire pair in silence for five long minutes but nothing happened. Eragon suddenly opened his eyes and glanced over at Murtagh, a defeated expression on his face.

Rising from his seated position, Murtagh sheathed his sword and walked along the root until he stood beside Eragon. A feeling of determination rose within him as he glared at the trunk before him. Resting one hand on the rough bark the ruby Rider cast his thoughts out to the shifting and enormous consciousness of the tree. He ignored every distraction in his search for the consciousness that he knew resided in this tree. It did not take much for him to find it, the thoughts long and slow-moving – as if the tree was lost in a deep sleep from which it would never rise. But Murtagh was not deterred by this slow and impossible to decipher tree that had once not been a tree at all. He had spent most of his life honing a practicing his mental abilities until they were formidable but, even more formidable then those carefully honed skills, was his determination. Eragon may be stubborn, his skills of the mind may have improved by leaps and bounds and he may have seen much these past weeks but he still could not match Murtagh in some things.

As he launched himself into that stream of consciousness Murtagh summoned every image of fire, of burning, pain, anguish and – above all – the utter chaotic destruction of war. He combined them with urgency, the fear he felt for his land – his world – and his desperation to find the brightsteel that was hidden somewhere in this clearing. It was a barrage of blood, fire, desperation and Thorn, feeling what he was doing, added his own strength to Murtagh's. The two of them - Rider and dragon - melding into one focused entity.

Murtagh knew his life had not been peaceful and only dotted with moments of happiness and freedom but he had not realized just how many memories of treachery, death and fury lay in his mind. It hurt and, to his surprise, it was Thorn who kept the despair and pain that the memories awoke within him at bay so that he could focus upon the task at hand. Murtagh forced his life upon the Menoa tree. He forced his years of living upon the very edge of darkness and tyranny into a being that had thought only of the bright sun, the wind and the vast forest around it for thousands upon thousands of years.

At first the tree did not acknowledge them or the stream of thoughts, images and emotions that was being forced upon it. For a brief moment Murtagh felt his determination and hope waver but he stuck with it. It was lucky he did stick with it for, a moment later, the tree suddenly stirred as if half awoken from a deep trance.

A slow, whispering voice suddenly echoed through his mind and, in his surprise, Murtagh ended the flow of thoughts. _Who dares to disturb my peace? _

_It is me - Murtagh. _He only hesitated one single moment and then spoke the words that were still so unfamiliar to him: _Rider of Thorn. _

_Why have you disturbed me? _There was a note of anger in that voice, the branches rustling about them.

_Because we need your assistance. My brother and I are the last free _Dragon Riders in Alagaësia. Thorn and Saphira are the last free dragons in all of existence. _We are perhaps the only ones who can defeat Galbatorix, the traitor who has destroyed the Riders and conquered half of Alagaësia. _

_How can I help you? _the voice sighed.

_A werecat told my brother, Eragon Shadeslayer, to look under the Menoa tree when he needed a weapon. We have looked and looked, but we cannot find it on our own. _

_ Then you have done this in vain for there is no weapon under my roots. _The tree made to withdraw.

Desperate to keep the tree talking, Murtagh said, _We believe the werecat might have meant brightsteel, the star metal Rhunön uses to forge the blades of the Riders. Without it, she cannot replace my brother's sword. _

The surface of the earth rippled as the network of roots that covered the clearing shifted slightly. The disturbance flushed hundreds of panicked rabbits, mice, voles, shrews, and other small creatures from their burrows and dens, and sent them scampering across the open ground toward the main body of the forest.

The voice returned. _The werecat knew whereof he spoke; there is a nodule of brightsteel ore buried at the very edge of my roots, but you shall not have it. _

_Why? _pleaded Murtagh.

_Little matters to me but the rain and sun. Why should I give it to you when you have so rudely awoken me? _

Forcing himself to concentrate even more fiercely on the conversation, Murtagh adopted his most desperate and pleading tone. _If we cannot stop the man who destroyed the Dragon Riders, he will come here and he will burn the forest around you, and then he will destroy you as well. If you help us, though, we may be able to stop him. _

A screech echoed among the trees as two branches scraped against each other._ If he tries to kill my seedlings, then he will die, _said the voice_. No one is as strong as the whole of the forest. No one can hope to defeat the forest, and I speak for the forest. _

_He will come, _said Murtagh in the Ancient Language and with the words he sent her a whole host of memories that showed the destruction just one person – Galbatorix – could unleash. _Nothing can hold him back. _

The Menoa tree did not answer but rather probed at his mind and then at Eragon's. She swept through his thoughts like a gust of wind, not unpleasant or threatening but still powerful. She seemed to speak to Eragon then but what she said Murtagh was not privy to. Then, soft and fluttering, the voice came again and she spoke only to Murtagh and Thorn. _Will you give me what I want in return, Dragon Rider? _

_Yes, _said the ruby Rider. His answer unwavering even as he felt a small surge of doubt suddenly rise within him. What would she demand of him? What price would a new sword for his brother cost?

The canopy of the Menoa tree grew still, and for several minutes, all was quiet in the clearing. Then the ground began to shake and the roots in front of them began to twist and grind, shedding flakes of bark as they pulled aside to reveal a bare patch of dirt, out of which emerged what appeared to be a lump of corroded iron roughly two feet long and a foot and a half wide.

_Here is your metal_, whispered the Menoa tree. _Take it and go . . . . _

_ But—_Eragon started to ask.

_ Go_…said the Menoa tree, its voice fading away_. Go…_And the tree's consciousness withdrew, receding deeper and deeper into itself until Murtagh could barely sense its presence.

_She didn't tell me what she wanted, _said Murtagh to Thorn.

_Perhaps she didn't know what she wanted. _

"How did you awaken her, Murtagh?" asked Eragon as he stared down at the lump of brightsteel.

"I wasn't leaving her in peace until she answer me," said the Rider – unwilling to speak the truth of what he had actually done. "Now come on. We don't have all night."

He did not tell his brother as he watched Eragon hoist the metal-laced stone into his arms, how unbalanced he felt right then. Waking the Menoa Tree had uncovered memories and feelings that his mind had buried for a reason. There were memories of his father, hysterical screams and of public executions where the blood spilled onto marble floors. His hand gripped the pommel of the ruby sword tightly.

Thorn was all concern as he sensed the turmoil in his Rider's mind, _Are you alright?_

_I'll be fine, Thorn. I just…just need a minute. _

"Are you coming?" Eragon's question broke through his reverie. The words sounded unnatural in the still and once more peaceful clearing.

Glancing up Murtagh realized that both Saphira and Eragon were looking at them expectantly from the edge of the clearing. Murtagh shook himself – as a dog shakes water from his coat – and hurried to catch up. He hoped that finding this bright steel was worth it. Because, despite his many skills and talents, Murtagh knew that he could never hope to fashion a sword of any quality and neither could Eragon.

They needed this 'Runon.'

And, this time, it would be Eragon who did the convincing.

* * *

><p>Who was she? What kind of family brought up a girl like this one? Where had she come from?<p>

Such were the musings that often popped up in the head of Marco as he regarded 'Liana.' He knew only the barest of facts about her and not even the last few weeks of living together had cleared away any of the mystery about her. Liana had been careful not to let even the barest mention of her past out when she spoke to him about the Varden or what they had to do. Even now, as he observed her casually chatting with Helvard about the rising prices of goods due to the civil war sweep across the Empire, he could gleam nothing about her inner life or thoughts. Her words were polite, her face attentive and Helvard all but glowed under the attention she paid him.

Marco had long tried to pretend to be less than he was but Liana was more a master of that art than he. He could not have taken a job in the castle and been able to keep up his façade as she had done. It was hard enough for him to blend into the shapeless and shifting crowds that moved through the small city. He would not have trusted himself not to make some silly blunder and be caught by that magician. How she managed to live under that kind of constant strain and still appear as if nothing was wrong…he envied her skill although he suspected that, had he known her better, he would have been able to see the lines of stress and care. No one, he had learned long ago, is infallible and Liana, for all her smooth skills and seeming inexhaustible strength, was no exception.

Marco ran a hand along the smooth wood of Helvard's kitchen table. He had asked Liana once where she came from. The conversation came back to him now as he gazed distantly at the row of brightly polished pots hanging from a rack along one wall.

_"Where is home for you, Liana?" _

_"Not anywhere you have been." _

_"What do you mean?" _

_"A girl cannot reveal all of her secrets." _

_"You are not going to tell me where it is, are you?"_

_A secretive smile and then a single nod of her head, "No. I am not." _

Marco shakes his head ever so slightly to clear away the thoughts and memories. He is weary and it is making him think things that he does not need to think. They have gathered here to speak of the plan and, now that one has been made and agreed upon, they are lingering. Helvard is enjoying Liana's company and neither Marco nor Liana is quite willing to venture back out into the patrolled streets. All three of them feel safe here – even though they are not – and the steamy kitchen is like a cocoon which isolates them from the world outside.

Marco ran a hand over the smooth wood of the table, looking at the grain and whirls that form a mesmerizing pattern in the wood. He wants to go. He wants this all to be over because he isn't quite sure any of it is going to work and he is sick of thinking about it. How can it work? How can they somehow stop Galbatorix's magician from summoning a Shade and open the keep to the Varden's forces? They were only human - they could not be in three places at once.

All actions, he had learned long ago, have repercussions.

He wonders, as his eyes flick back to Liana's face, if she was ever told the same thing.


	81. Chapter 81

Eragon found Runon as he had thought he would: bent over a piece of white hot metal with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. The clink of a hammer on a chisel echoed through the space, the rhythm never changing. She did not glance up as the two Riders and their dragons came closer and she showed no sign that she heard the polite greetings that were directed her way. Instead, as Eragon had expected, Runon did not show even the faintest glimmer of interest in them but the Rider was not deterred.

He would wait.

He would wait as long as he had to.

"So, Shadeslayer, you are still alive," said Rhunön at last, without taking her eyes off her work. Her voice grated like pitted millstones. The elf smith turned her heavy, piercing gaze to Murtagh. Her eyes swept him up and down, lingering on the red sword that was belted to his waist. "I would say you were Morzan," she said at last, "but you are not him. You are the new Rider, the one spoken of by the trees and the elves that remain."

Murtagh shrugged, "I am his son."

Runon nodded once. She did not comment further on the matter nor did she voice any opinion on having a son of Morzan in her forge. Instead she turned her steely eyes to Eragon and said, "I do not need to wonder why you have come, Shadeslayer. And my answer remains no. I shall not forge another sword."

"But Runon," said Eragon in a pleading voice. "I have found brightsteel and I…without this sword I cannot face Galbatorix and end this war."

The elf smith was silent for a long time. At last she spoke and her voice was low and the depth of weariness in it was startling. "I have not searched for brightsteel for many years. The last I ever found was enough to craft seven swords and, among them, was Zar'roc. I have searched for brightsteel only once since then and it was when word of the new Rider reached me." The smith moved from her place behind her forge and out into the sheltered clearing.

Understand me, Shadeslayer, it would please me even more if you had a sword that was made for you. Zar'roc may have served you well, but it was the wrong shape for your body." She turned back to her forge and sat down again, not even commenting that Zar'roc was now been worn on Murtagh's hip.

"If you crafted me a sword you could help put an end to Galbatorix's reign. Would not it be fitting if I killed him with a blade you forged when it was with your swords he and the Forsworn slew so many dragons and Riders? You hate how they have used your weapons. How better to balance the scales than by forging the instrument of Galbatorix's doom?"

The elf was silent for a long moment. "I cannot break my oath, Shadeslayer."

"You do not need to," said Eragon quietly, almost beseechingly. "Work through me, Runon. Show me how to craft this sword. My hands are yours to use." His offer hung in the air.

The elf smith whipped her head around to stare at him. For a second she looked stunned and the Rider wondered when the last time she had looked this shocked and amazed had been. Over the centuries of her life Runon, it seemed, had become immune to such things as surprise – nothing had the power to shock her or rattle her after all that she had seen.

But this had surprised her. He, a Rider of eighteen, had shocked an elf who had lived millennia. It was enough to make him want to laugh although he controlled the impulse and schooled himself into a more serious state of mind.

"I cannot work in such a way!" The words were outraged - angry - but they did not dissuade the Rider. He had come to disregard such statements and it would take more than words – spoken in any language – to halt his mission. He needed a sword and he had a way to get it. Armed with quiet words and persuasive arguments he was certain he could turn her to his side.

"You can," he said quietly. "I would open myself to you; through me you would be able to direct the creation of the blade. You would never be the one directly forging the blade."

"It is foolish," snapped the smith. "You would need to wholly give yourself to me. There could not be a shred of resistance or hesitation otherwise an error might be made that jeopardizes this entire scheme."

Eragon gazed at her steadily. He could not find any words that would do to convey how much he needed this sword or the lengths that he would go to make it. Runon, he could see, was already giving in. The prospect of plying her true craft – of creating another piece of her priceless art – was too attractive to her.

"You will let me control your body? No matter what I ask you to do you will obey without question?" Runon's voice burned with intensity and she was leaning forward slightly, her previous project forgotten on the anvil.

"I give you my word," said Eragon in the Ancient Language.

The elf stood once more and walked over to her forge. She seemed to be thinking and then she raised one hand and gestured at the sapphire Rider. "Show me the brightsteel you found, Shadeslayer."

He deposited it in her waiting arms and watched as she carefully examined the seemingly dull and ordinary metal. "Where," she inquired almost reverently, "did you find it?"

"Beneath the Menoa Tree," he said. "Murtagh convinced her to give it to us."

The elf's eyes flicked to the silent and still Murtagh who was standing beside an equally still Thorn. "How did you wake her?" inquired the elf. "I felt no great release of power nor was there any sign of a great disturbance in the forest."

The ruby Rider shrugged, "My need was great."

The elf snorted. "In other words," she said with an almost approving look, "you weren't polite about it?" Runon turned her gaze back to Eragon. "I do this because I trust you, Shadeslayer, to do all in your power – no matter how small that power may be – to defeat Galbatorix." With that, metal clutched tightly in her arms, the elf smith turned away.

"We shall go," said Murtagh softly to Eragon.

"What?" The sapphire Rider suddenly looked over at his brother, an apprehensive feeling growing inside of him as he realized that his brother was leaving. Murtagh's solid presence had been more reassuring then the sapphire Rider had realized.

"I will see you tomorrow," said the red Rider. Murtagh glanced at Runon who was watching the brothers. "Runon-elda," he said with an incline of his head before he left the clearing along with Thorn. The two vanishing silently down the shadowed path that led back to the deserted city.

"We must not dawdle," said the elf smith sharply. Eragon jumped as he was forced to turn his attention back to the glowering elf. "If you are to have a sword before the sun rises on a new day then we have no time to lose. Quick, Shadeslayer. I shall show you the way a Rider's sword is forged and there are not many who can claim as much."

And Runon did show him.

Through most of the night he labored to craft his new sword with Saphira's help and the elf smith's watchful guidance. Once the basic shape and design had been chosen, the metal had cooled and true night had fallen across the clearing, the actual forging began. Once Eragon joined minds with Runon the rest of the process became a blur. He remembered the music that echoed through the dark and tangled landscape of her thoughts. The music was slow and deliberate and cast in a strange and unsettling key that scraped on his nerves. What it implied about Rhunön's character, Eragon was not sure, but the eerie melodies nearly made him reconsider the wisdom of his decision. But then he had remembered Saphira sitting next to the forge, watching over him, and his trepidation receded, and he lowered the last of the defenses around his consciousness. He was privy to Rhunön's every thought and feeling, by reason of their closeness. The depth of her knowledge amazed him; she saw things within the metal he had not suspected existed, and the calculations she made concerning its treatment were beyond his understanding.

From forging to refining the contours to tempering the blade, Runon used the sapphire Rider's body. Then, when the Rider was growing very close to the edge of exhaustion, Rhunön sent him to her own house to rest. Saphira remained to watch the completion of the forging.

He woke at Saphira's gentle prod and hurried back to the forge. The morning light was beginning to filter through the heavy canopy as caught sight of Rhunön and Saphira standing together by the open-walled forge. With one hand pushing back his unruly hair and the other straightening his tunic, Eragon hurried over to them.

Rhunön stood leaning against the edge of the bench. There were dark bags under her eyes, and the lines on her face were heavier than before. The sword lay before her, concealed beneath a length of white cloth.

"I have done the impossible," she said, the words hoarse and broken. "I made a sword when I swore I would not. What is more, I made it in less than a day and with hands that were not my own. Yet the sword is not crude or shoddy. It will serve you well, Shadeslayer."

Grasping the corner of the cloth, Rhunön pulled it aside, revealing the sword.

And there it was.

He hadn't quite realized what an artist Runon was and never before had he been given a weapon crafted only for one person: him. It was what he had dreamed of – more than what he had dreamed of. The sword was magnificent as Zar'roc and Naegling, and, in his opinion, more beautiful than any of them.

Covering the blade was a glossy scabbard of the same dark blue as the scales on Saphira's back. The color displayed a slight variegation, like the mottled light at the bottom of a clear forest pond. A piece of blued brightsteel carved in the shape of a leaf capped the end of the scabbard while a collar decorated with stylized vines encircled the mouth. The curved crossguard was also made of blued brightsteel, as were the four ribs that held in place the large sapphire that formed the pommel. The hand-and-a-half hilt was made of hard black wood.

The second he touched the hilt he felt a smile tug at his tired lips. It felt right. It was light and fast but sturdy in his hand. With this sword Eragon felt confident, ready to whatever was asked of him. He admired the way the light caught the shining blade as he swung it through the air.

Turning to the elf smith, Eragon bowed to her with the sword in one hand. "I do not know how I can thank you for such a gift."

"You may thank me by killing Galbatorix. If there is any sword destined to slay that mad king, it is this one."

"I shall try my hardest, Rhunön-elda."

The elf woman nodded, appearing satisfied. "Well, you finally have a sword of your own, which is as it ought to be. Now you are truly a Dragon Rider!"

"Yes," said Eragon, and held the sword up toward the sky. "Now I am truly a Rider." He lowered the sword and said with a faint laugh, "But what to call this blade? The sword that kills Galbatorix must be named."

_Saphira? What do you think? _

_ Perhaps Reaver or Gutripper? Or maybe Battleclaw or Glitter-thorn or Limbhacker? You could name it Terror or Pain or Armbiter or Eversharp or Ripplescale: that on account of the lines in the steel. There is also Tongue of Death and Elfsteel and Starmetal and many others besides. _

Her outpouring of names surprised Eragon. _You have a talent for this,_ he said.

_ Inventing random names is easy but it is finding the right name, however, that can try the patience of even an elf._

_What of Kingkiller?_ he asked.

_It is too final. There is no story for the sword beyond one act of violence if that is the name it carries. _

What Saphira said was too true and Eragon stared at the sword. He was stymied. The sapphire Rider had not thought of this when he asked Runon to forge him a sword and now he felt rather foolish because of it. It needed to be a name that had a personal ring to it and conjured up memories and images that could be understood even by the simplest layman. The name, the Rider knew, would shape the future of the blade and, because he was the bearer, it would shape his own future. He had never inquired what Zoe called her sword or stopped to consider how people named such objects that, ultimately, they would trust with their life.

Maybe 'Hope'? He discarded it along with a handful of others that sprang to mind. Eragon's eyes swept over space before him, taking in the tools and work surfaces along with the few flames that still flickered in the forge. His eyes lingered on the faintly glowing and flickering embers. Fire…fire had been his friend when Durza raised his sword to kill him and fire had been his friend when the Ra'zac had tried to kill him and Brom outside Dras'Leona. Brisingr had been there for him when he first used magic. Fire, he thought, was Saphira's ally and his own. It was powerful, beautiful, deadly, hard to understand and even harder to control. Was that not how Saphira and he had to be?

Fire.

Brisingr.

He felt Saphira's approval radiated from their shared bond. _A good name, _she said with a deep hum.

Lifting the weapon to shoulder level and he said, "I am decided. Sword, I name thee Brisingr!" And with a sound like rushing wind, the blade burst into fire, an envelope of sapphire-blue flames writhing about the razor-sharp steel.

He had been taught that, under no circumstances, was he ever to drop his blade even if it did burst into flames. Uttering a startled cry, Eragon reflexivly tightened his grip around sword and held it as far away from himself as he could, afraid of being burned. It was then that Eragon realized it was he who was providing the energy to sustain the unnatural fire. He quickly ended the magic, and the fire vanished from the sword. Puzzled by how he could have cast a spell without intending to, he tapped the sapphire blade with the tip of a finger. It was no hotter than before.

A heavy scowl on her brow, Rhunön stalked forward, seized the sword from Eragon, and examined it from tip to pommel. "You are fortunate I have already protected it with wards against heat and damage, else you would have just scratched the guard and destroyed the temper of the blade." Eragon apologized, and appearing somewhat mollified, Rhunön handed the sword back to him. "Did you set fire to it on purpose?" she asked.

"No," said Eragon, unable to explain what had happened.

"Say it again," ordered Rhunön.

"What?"

"The name, the name, say it again."

Holding the sword as far away from his body as he could, Eragon exclaimed, "Brisingr!" A column of flickering flames engulfed the blade of the sword, the heat warming Eragon's face. _Now there is a fitting sword for a Rider and dragon!_ said Saphira in a delighted tone. _It breathes fire as easily as I do . _

"But I wasn't trying to cast a spell!" protested Eragon. "All I did was say Brisingr and—" He yelped and swore as the sword again caught fire, which he put out for the fourth time.

"May I?" asked Rhunön, extending a hand toward Eragon. He gave her the sword, and she too said,

"Brisingr!" A shiver seemed to run down the blade, but other than that, it remained inanimate. Her expression contemplative, Rhunön returned the sword to Eragon and said, "I can think of two explanations for this marvel. One is that because you were involved with the forging, you imbued the blade with a portion of your personality and therefore it has become attuned to your wishes. My other explanation is that you have discovered the true name of your sword. Perhaps both those things are what has happened. In any event, you have chosen well, Shadeslayer. Brisingr! Yes, I like it. It is a good name for a sword."

_A very good name_, Saphira agreed.

Then Rhunön placed her hand over the middle of Brisingr's blade and murmured an inaudible spell. The Elvish glyph for fire appeared upon both sides of the blade. She did the same to the front of the scabbard.

Again Eragon bowed to the elf woman, and both he and Saphira expressed their gratitude to her. A smile appeared on Rhunön's aged face, and she touched each of them upon their brows with her callused thumb. "I am glad I was able to help the Riders this once more. Go, Shadeslayer. Go, Brightscales. Return to the Varden, and may your enemies flee with fear when they see the sword you now wield."

So Eragon and Saphira bade her farewell, and together they departed Rhunön's house, Eragon holding his new sword tightly.

* * *

><p>The Varden had almost arrived.<p>

And with the upcoming arrival of the Varden came the time for me to hand in my resignation as 'maid.' I was not greatly missed. All I received was a dark scowl, my meager wages and a sharp nod towards the door. I wasn't the only one supposedly packing up my bags and fleeing the city. Those who could or genuinely felt it was best to put as much distance between them and the Varden's coming attack, were leaving the city in one long stream. Those who weren't leaving didn't look upon us 'deserters' too kindly.

There was a slight bounce to my step as I left the keep and turned my feet down the street that led – after some twists and turns – to Helvard's home which had become the official meeting spot for us. The poor man really wasn't meant for the strain of this job. His hands had been shaking so badly the last time we met – two days previous – and I had told him that as soon as the Varden were a day's ride away we would be meeting once more before it was all hands to deck and the real action began. Helvard must have been pulled into the Varden's spy force by accident. He was not the type who does such things. But - what he did have - was a deep understanding of every way – over and underground – into Feinster and even into the heavily guarded keep. How he had come to know so much about this subject was never made clear me.

I drew the edges of my cloak closer together and stepped around a large woman who had stopped in the middle of the street to tell off a grubby child she was gripping firmly by the ear. I cast the child a sympathetic glance but continued on my way. It would be a relief to be out of Feinster and back into the wild. I disliked living in cities and the necessity of having to carve out a place for myself among the shifting crowds.

I saw Marco waiting for me up ahead and, when I passed by him, he fell into step a few paces behind me. Then, as we passed by Helvard's house, the man stepped out his front door, closed it and then locked it before falling into step a little ways behind Marco.

I then turned away and the other two continued. We were going to different places and our various confusing and circuitous routes sometimes confused even us. I stopped only under the pretense of fixing my cloak or when I discreetly checked passer-byes by pretending to window shop or fix a lock of hair.

When I came to the familiar alleyway I knelt on the cold stone ground and rested a hand on the one paving stone that was moveable. The Varden would arrive sometime tonight and the siege would begin tomorrow night but, in preparation, we were already preparing the few ways that we had discovered into the keep. In my last missive to Brom I had identified these three locations with precise instructions as to where they led and who I thought should use them. The one I was currently kneeling beside was one that I intended for Arya and the other elven spell casters. It was the passageway that led to the forgotten turret where I had cleaned the tapestry.

Marco was unlocking a forgotten and mostly barricaded door in the outer wall that surrounded Feinster. That particular door would be for a select group of soldiers or spellcasters to use to open the gates from the inside. Helvard, meanwhile, was onto the other mostly forgotten and barricaded door that lay in storeroom used by Feinster's garrison. Then, because that door was close to the main gates of Feinster, he would be leaving the city and carefully make his way to the Varden.

_Liana? _

_What is it Helvard? _

_I need your help. Now. Something has happened. _

_What has happened? _I demanded as I left the alley and turned my feet towards the place that Helvard was supposed to be.

_I think I have been discovered. _

My heart rate sped up but my quick walk which turned into a jog every few feet. How could Helvard have been found? Had, despite all our careful planning, word leaked out of our operations? Night was beginning to fall and the streets were getting increasingly gloomier and more abandoned.

_Marco? _I called down the thread that connected me to my fellow spy. He was, from what I could tell, currently covered in grey stone dust but feeling triumphant as he examined his newly uncovered and lubricated door. I hated to be the bringer of bad news but adrenalin wasn't making me want to put it off.

It took a couple of words from me and, in less than thirty seconds, Marco was – like me – speeding his way towards Helvard. It was times like this that I longed for the comforting weight of my sword or bow. All I had was some spare coins, a broken button, a ragged piece of silk for a handkerchief and Runon's knife. My hand tightened around the discreetly hidden handle of the blade.

I arrived at the store house and, moving carefully, I discreetly slipped inside. Helvard was there, hidden behind the shattered remains of a wooden wagon. He was coated in dust and he looked only slightly relieved when I slipped in beside him.

_What happened? _I inquired of the slightly shaking man.

_I was half way through the task assigned to me, _he said, _when I heard the sounds of someone entering. I hid here. It was an Empire soldier. _

_Where is he? _

_He left soon after he entered. _

Another voice reached my mind: _Liana? Helvard? _It was Marco and he was pretending to stand idly outside.

_Come in, _I told him, _the coast is clear for now. _

"So," I said out loud to Helvard, "you have reason to believe more soldiers may arrive here?"

"Yes," said the man quietly. "I'm not sure why the one did come in at all."

I shrugged and stood up from my crouching position. "We've got to hurry," I said to him and Marco who had quietly slipped in and over to us.

"The door is over there," said Helvard with a gesture towards one wall. "But I can't get it to budge in the slightest. The bolts are rusted shut."

"They will give for me," I said with a quick, nervous glance back at the main entrance. Were their wards placed over this door? Had some magical tripwire been tripped by Helvard when he entered this place despite my best efforts to ensure there were no such tripwires?

It really didn't look like a door. The stone had not been moved for so long that it was impossible to imagine that they even could. There was one set of bolts at the top and another at the bottom but someone had piled some wooden crates and rusted weapons against it. With a wave of my hand I moved those away without so much as bothering the thick layer of dust that coated them.

The bolts holding the long forgotten door shut finally gave in to the small amount of magic I exerted over them. Behind me - their breathing sounding unnaturally loud to my adrenalin fueled hearing – were Helvard and Marco. Poor Helvard did not want to be there and he was puffing like a winded bull elephant.

"Come on," I hissed furiously as, with a wave of my hand, I cast glamour over the place so that it would appear it hadn't been touched for the past decade let alone by one frantic person followed by two more frantic people.

Helvard, Marco and I emerged back into the street and I cast my gaze around at the people who moved around us. Joining in with the crowd all three of us moved with it. While moving with the stream of people was an effective way of hiding the mob we had slipped into was not heading towards the gates out of Feinster but back up to the keep. We needed to go the other way but I saw no way of accomplishing this without being seen even if we went one at time. Helvard would be recognized, detained and, ultimately, give up the whole gig.

There was only one place we could go and that was the tunnel I had opened up. If we got there then at least we would be hidden and I would still have access to the keep. It wouldn't be pleasant to spend just over twenty four hours in a dark and rather slimy tunnel but it was better than the alternative: getting arrested.

"Damn it," I heard Marco mutter from somewhere behind me. "We are being followed."

"How many?" I hissed back.

"Two," was the quick reply.

We kept walking with the crowd that was moving towards the main keep. When we reached the main gates it thinned a little but most of the crowd that we had fallen into step swept us inside and, seeing that we were now quite trapped, I let out a long sigh of horror. What now? We were inside the keep and armed guards paced along the wall and stood beside the heavy iron entrance. It was getting late and, the second we entered the keep, the small crowd seemed to immediately disperse.

Aiming for casual did not work for long.

We had made it to just outside the servant entrance when things went completely and utterly wrong. The expression 'to hell in a hand basket' is one way, reader, I can think of putting it. Our two pursuers caught up with us along with a few more that were clearly recently called in back up. It was so wrong. This was not how any of this was supposed to have gone and we had been idiots to stick together and let ourselves be herded right into the center of hornet's nest.

The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was only getting worse. Beside me, his eyes flicking between the rapidly approaching soldiers, was Marco and, on my other side, was the trembling Helvard. Marco was a worthy companion but he was not Arya or Eragon or Murtagh or Brom. Right then, reader, I would have loved for one of them to be there with me.

As the soldiers approached, two dressed in civilian clothes and the other two in uniform, my right hand tightened around the blade of Runon's knife. They were speaking, Marco was saying something back but my hearing seemed to have stopped working. All I could hear was the thrumming of my heart. When they drew weapons and advanced, I could hold back no longer. I dispatched one with an easy backhand thrust of my knife but the second man was too wily for such an easy move. As I went to engage him fully and press him to fight back, I saw the flash of a bloodied sword out of the corner of my right eye and heard the agonized scream of a man in extreme pain.

Helvard fell heavily.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

* * *

><p>"Masters," said Eragon as he dismounted from Saphira. He felt refreshed. After leaving Runon's forge, the sapphire Rider and dragon had gone straight to their quarters in Ellesmera where they had found food, fresh supplies and new clothes waiting for them. After eating, bathing and dressing Eragon had felt refreshed and he and Saphira had flown directly to the Craigs of Tel'nair.<p>

"I see you did not take my advice," said the silver haired elf that stood beside the golden dragon's right shoulder. He gave the sapphire pair a stern look, "I thought I told you both to rest."

"Ebrithil," said Eragon with a shrug, "this was worth a sleepless night. Tis not often one convinces Runon-elda to craft them a sword."

"No," said Oromis and he held out his hand for the blade. Eragon passed the sword to Oromis who examined the sword for a long few minutes before saying, "Runon has outdone herself. Few weapons, sword or otherwise, are the equal of this blade." He read the glyph on the blade. "Brisingr…a most apt name for this sword. An apt name," he said with a significant look, "for a sword you wield, Eragon."

_A very apt name, _said Glaedr with a flick of his tongue.

"For some reason, every time I utter its name, the blade bursts into…" he hesitated and then switched out of the Ancient Language so he could say the word 'fire' without fear of setting the blade alight.

Oromis's eyebrow climbed even higher, "Indeed? Did Runon have an explanation for this unique phenomenon?" As he spoke, Oromis returned the blade to Eragon who sheathed it once more.

"No," said the Rider, "she had only theories and the true reason for my sword's unique ability may be any combination of those theories."

"Hmmm," said Oromis but then he clapped his hands together. "You both plan to leave immediately do you not?"

"Yes," said Eragon. "We have no more time to linger in Ellesmera as much as we might wish to. The Varden will need our assistance in Feinster."

"I agree," said Oromis. "Originally Glaedr and I had planned to fly into battle ourselves and assist Islanzardi's people with their campaign. However, with the arrival of Murtagh and Thorn our skills and energy are better directed into training them."

_When the time comes for Murtagh and Thorn to leave, _said Glaedr, _we shall fly with them. _

Eragon was, for a brief moment, stunned by the idea of his masters entering the conflict that raged beyond the borders of Du Weldenvarden. He was well aware of both Oromis's limitations with magic and Glaedr's physical limitations which, while they had never come in the way of his or Saphira's training, would put them at a distinct disadvantage were they to come face to face with Galbatorix or one of his eldunari fueled shadow Rider's. However, the surprise and shock faded quickly. His masters, Eragon knew, had every right to fight and they were stronger, cannier, wiser and even more powerful than either he or Saphira.

Dipping his head in acknowledgment Eragon said, "We shall meet again then in battle then."

"Yes," said the elf and his expression softened somewhat as though he could guess at Eragon's thoughts. "I appreciate your concern, Eragon, but the cause is a worthy one and it would be wrong to send Murtagh and Thorn to battle but remain behind ourselves. Glaedr and I are far from helpless and our existence will undermine Galbatorix's confidence, bolster the spirits of the dwarves and the Varden. It may well increase the number of recruits Nasuada receives from the Empire."

The elf paced to the edge of the cliff, "The day we depart for war, however, is still a while off. Thorn has much growing to do and he is far from battle ready." Turning Oromis said, "I know that you are both anxious to be gone but, before you leave, if there is any subject you wish to discuss – magical or not – or any remaining questions you have regarding eldunari then ask. We have a little time if you wish to do some learning for I asked Murtagh and Thorn to come a little later than they normally do."

A smile broke out across Eragon's face as he met the silver eyes of his teacher. He knew he should already be winging his way towards Feinster with Saphira and his new sword but Oromis's offer was too enticing. The silver elf knew him well and had seen that adding one more feather – if you will – to his quiver would not only make the sapphire Rider feel more confident but offer a brief respite from the pressure that was, if anything, only increasing.

"I would be honored to," he said. "But nothing spring immediately to mind, ebrithil. My questions seem"

The elf laughed, "I very much doubt that."

Eragon turned away. He was having a hard time concentrating upon the matter at hand; his thoughts kept returning to the Eldunari, Feinster and the idea of Oromis and Glaedr flying to battle. He marveled - like he did so many times – at the strange twists of fate that had brought him together with such an unlikely group of individuals and into the forefront of war and destiny. If Arya hadn't…the Rider stopped and smiled as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Would you teach me how to move an object from place to place without delay, just as Arya did with Saphira's egg?"

Oromis nodded. "An excellent choice. The spell is costly, but it has many uses. I am sure it will prove most helpful to you in your dealings with Galbatorix and the Empire. Arya, for one, can attest to its effectiveness."

For the next two hours Eragon sat with his two masters and Saphira and learned the words and method behind the spell that had brought him the sapphire blue egg so long ago in the wintery mountains of the Spine. It was complex and Oromis tolerated not even the slightest mistake in pronunciation for, as he pointed out, such a mistake would either send the object in the wrong direction or not send it at all.

The sun was beginning to climb towards noon when, with a nod of his head, Oromis said, "It is time for you both to be off. We have told you all we can before you start this next stage in the journey."

"Yes," agreed Eragon and he cast his eyes towards the path that led to Ellesmera. He wished Murtagh would appear so that he could both thank him and wish him well. It did not sit well with him to leave without saying anything to the ruby pair but it could not be helped. He and Saphira had lingered far too long as it was. Before he could ask Oromis to tell his half-brother something – anything - for him, however, Murtagh and Thorn appeared. It was as if they had known exactly when the best time to appear was and they were neither too late nor too early.

"Eragon," greeted the young man after he bowed slightly to Oromis and Glaedr and said his formal greetings to them. "Saphira."

"Murtagh," said Eragon and he stepped forward and gripped his brother's arm in a warrior's embrace. "Saphira and I must leave but I wish to thank you for all your help and Thorn's help yesterday. Without you both I would not have this." Eragon gestured at the sword now strapped to his hip.

"May I see it?" asked Murtagh. When he took the blade from Eragon the young man's eyes glittered with interest. "It is a fine blade," he said as he tested the weight with a few practiced swings. "I am glad that you have this sword," he said and Eragon was surprised at the amount of sincerity and…was that relief? Yes, it was relief in Murtagh's face and voice.

"I hope for the day when we can duel together," said Eragon with a grin.

"Same," said the other Rider with a matching smile. "Be safe, brother." The ruby Rider's smile faded and his eyes grew serious, "I don't want to have to rescue you like I did in Gil'ead."

Eragon smiled a little, "I'll do my best, brother."

_When you see Zoe, _said Murtagh to Eragon within the privacy of his mental touch. _When you see her, Eragon, give her my best and tell her that I miss her. _

_I will. I have not forgotten the promise I made you in Farthen Dur, Murtagh. It still stands. _

_Good, _said the ruby Rider.

"It is time you were off," said Murtagh then out loud as if neither he nor Eragon had ever spoken in any other manner. "Thorn and I shall see you both soon." They embraced tightly but let go quickly – nothing more could be said between them then. Neither brother, it seemed, knew quite how to handle these moments of parting.

Eragon nodded and said his farewells to Thorn and then, stopping before Oromis and Glaedr, he found his voice had completely deserted him. Once more he had come to them, lost and confused, and, once more, they had set him down upon the correct path and shown him what he had been missing before. Would he ever see them again? Would he ever spend a few hours like he had this morning in their company?

"Go," said Oromis to him. "This is not a farewell, Eragon."

_No, _agreed Glaedr.

"I…" began Eragon but again the words failed him.

The elf rested one hand on his shoulder. "Go now, Eragon. Remember what we have spoken of and that a secret shared is not secret at all. Guard the information we have given you and share it only if absolutely necessary."

The sapphire Rider nodded and then, with a final nod to Glaedr, he turned and took a short running start that propelled him up onto Saphira's back. With a roar and great flap of her wings, Saphira leapt off the ground and into the clear morning air of Du Weldenvarden. Below them, glittering with a thousand colors, were two dragons and their Riders who watched as the sapphire dragon and her Rider took flight.

* * *

><p>I screamed.<p>

Marco grabbed my hand and yanked me forward, pulling me away from the dead body and the back servant courtyard. I found my feet quickly and ran on my own, following behind Marco as we raced through the corridors and back towards the hidden doorway and passageway that led outside the walls. We encountered no one, these servant corridors dead and abandoned at this hour. Back up the steps of the tower and towards the doorway hidden behind the tapestry. Our feet drummed against the stone but we did not care how much noise we made. We reached the small landing and both of turned, breathing hard to glance at the narrow doorway through which we had just burst.

Footsteps on stone.

They were coming and we were stuck here. But only one of us was stuck here if I had anything to do with it. For they did not yet know there was two of us, one of us could get away and do what had to be done. I could almost see Murtagh's furious frown. Marco might argue and Brom would not be happy but I had made my choice. Besides, Marco would obey me for I was his commander and even if he didn't like it – even then – he could not go against my orders.

I winced.

"Go," I told Marco. "Go!"

"But…"

I pushed him hard away, "Tell Brom. Find Brom and tell him what they are planning. Tell him he must warn Eragon. GO!"

_Because I never had the chance to and I should have said something but I didn't. I didn't feel I could or that I should but they need to know. THEY NEED TO KNOW! _

It was that anger - that desperation - that Marco saw. He saw that and not the great fear that would replace the fire the second his long, hard stare left my face. But he was a good soldier. He did what he was supposed to do – what we are all supposed to do – and was gone. Through the door and down the narrow, slimy steps while I pulled it shut behind him and let the heavy tapestry fall into place. I spun quickly then and slipped Runon's knife down the front of my bloodstained gown. The footsteps were growing louder, the sound of men running me down.

I turned then so that, when they came up the narrow stairwell, I would see them. I wanted to see them the second they appeared so that I could have every last millisecond to prepare myself. Because I would need every millisecond to prepare myself for what I knew would come – I had chosen this.

They emerged, ten men that came single file and had weapons at the ready. I nearly wanted to laugh as their eyes fell on me and they saw nothing more than one miserable little girl soaked in blood and as wild-eyed as a March hare.

They weren't very nice. But I didn't fight their cruel hands as they viciously propelled me down the stairs. I just went with them; I felt the bruises form across my arms and the headache start from the knock delivered for no reason by the captain who led them. All I could think was one thing: Please don't realize your mistake. Please don't yank off all my clothes and realize that you didn't remember to search me.

Please.

Please whoever might be out there and seems to care a little bit. Please! Please don't let them find it.

They took me down multiple levels and anyone we passed turned their faces away. Nobles and servants looked the other way at this new arrest as they did their best to get away and not be at all implicated in it. Cowards. Cowards but I am hardly any better. My heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird about to take flight and I have no idea what I will say. Damn it all! Where is my courage? Where is my defiance? Why don't I even fight a little bit instead of just letting them drag me around?

The men take me to a bare room with no windows that, to get through, we have to go through a set of very grim guards, down a massive staircase and then, finally, to this interrogation room. It is clear that, from here, I will go to my cell and from there…well that doesn't bear thinking about.

He is waiting for us. He is standing behind the only piece of furniture in the room: a table stacked with papers. His robes are fine and he looks just as cold and proud as he did when I cleaned up his wine soaked papers. This is the man who is planning on summoning a Shade and killing my comrades – my friends. I hate him. I hate all the things he is and all the things he is planning on doing to me no doubt.

He lifted his eyes to examine us and his flat grey eyes lingered for a long time on me. Then he walked around the table until he stood before me. His eyes are angry and his face set in a dark frown as he looks down at me. With a single gesture he dismisses the men so that it is just the captain that holds me so tightly around the upper arms.

"Liana," he says in a dangerous whisper. "Who do you serve? The little army camped outside of these walls? The elf witch in her forest?"

I say nothing.

With a furious growl, he raised his hand and rested the flat of his palm on my forehead. The smell of sweat, stale perfume and smoke was just as overwhelming as it had been the last time I had been in close proximity with him. He closed his eyes but I did not. I just let him beat his attacks at my iron-hard defenses. I let him spend his strength in his futile attempt to break my defenses. In that quiet show of strength I laughed at him mockingly and he knew it. My smirk was wide, my eyes cold in their mirth.

Finally, breathing hard, he withdrew and opened his eyes as he dropped his hand. His eyes had not lost the anger but they had gained a faint glint of interest. But if he wanted to be a Durza – who had been so good at this kind of terrifying – then he was way off the mark.

"Let's try something else," he said as he leaned a little closer until I could make out the individual hairs in his mustache. "Tell me a story little girl. Tell me your story."

I raised an eyebrow and said quietly, "Stories are dangerous things." The guard's grip on my upper arm tightened viciously.

"Tell me," he whispered in my ear. "Tell me why your story is dangerous, girl."

I met his gaze and said only, "Who says my story is dangerous?"

"It would be easier for you if you just told me what I want to know."

I said nothing. Just met his gaze with no defiance or anger, I simply looked at him without saying anything more. There was no weapon; I had only my armored mind to withdraw into until I was lost behind its defenses. That is no weapon but a line of defense and anger or defiance or fear would only make that defense waver when it needed to be strong. Behind it I just might lose myself in the shadows of my mind, into a still ocean of thoughts and memories.

The man's lip curled up in a faint imitation of a smile. Then, spinning on his heel, he lifted his right hand in a clear, almost arrogant way. "Take her away." He tuned his head ever so slightly and our eyes met for a brief moment before the guard wrenched me around by the arm. "I have time for a…for a conversation tomorrow."

They were about to drag me out but the door opened with a sharp bang and a woman marched in – not the graceful walk of a lady or the hurried trot of a maid going about her duties but a determined march as if she was a general inspecting his troops. I recognized her immediately: Lady Lorana of Feinster. She was dressed as a noble woman of Alagaesia in a stiff gown made of rich fabrics but she was not, as her march-like walk announced, a normal noble woman. Her hair was greying and she was a stout figure with sharp eyes. She was no great beauty but her eyes were keen and her hands capable.

But, at that moment, she might have been Islanzardi of Du Weldenvarden in all her unearthly beauty and with all the great power of the elves behind her and the wisdom of centuries to guide her decisions. Both the Captain and the magician jumped a little at this unexpected arrival but I just wanted to sink into the floor. I wanted to vanish. I wanted break apart into the tiny atoms that made me up and be blown away.

"What are you going to do her?" demanded the Lady. She wasted no time and her eyes, after flicking over me and the Captain, focused solely on the magician.

"The King has made it explicitly clear how spies of our enemies are to be treated and this girl is no different." The man spoke stiffly and I saw clear anger in the line of his jaw. He continued, "You know the laws set out by the King as well as I do."

Her face tightened, "I know them. Do not think to insinuate that. But when an arrest is made in my own home I would be a poor ruler if I did not inquire about who was arrested and what should be done about that person." She turned then and regarded me. Her eyes had seemed kind when I glimpsed her during my tenure as a maid. Now, however, they flicked over my bloodstained gown and the bruise I know must be rapidly forming on the side of my face without a glimmer of the kindness I had seen in them.

"What's your name?" she asked me in a business like tone that booked no argument although I saw the magician's jaw tighten alarmingly.

"Liana."

"And you are a spy?"

I regarded her for a long moment and weighed my options. "Some would call me that," I said at last. "And others would laugh and say there is nothing farther from the truth."

"Why would you betray the King?" she asked in the same tone.

I wanted to laugh and she must have seen the incredulousness in my face for her eyes snapped dangerously. The captain's grip tightened alarmingly and I half-wondered if I would have any circulation in the appendage by the time I was thrown into a cell. There were so many things I could have said in response to that question and some of them were distinctly rude.

"I suppose," I said and I could not resist showing a bit of my old flair of spirit even though I knew I shouldn't and that it wouldn't get me anywhere, "I suppose it depends on what your definition of betrayal is, my Lady. For Galbatorix was never my King just as the Varden is not my cause or Surda my homeland."

She regarded me now and her voice had a faint note of uncertainty in it although I could have just been imagining it. "I hope you are open with us about what you do know."

The magician laughed harshly. "Open? I doubt very much that she will be."

I ignored him and, instead, summoned an attempt at grin, "I can be very open, my Lady."

She stepped a little closer to me and her tone softened fractionally, "Then why are you here?"

"By chance and by choices that were made without knowing where they would lead," I said smoothly and I found it easier to talk, as if speaking was somehow managing to push the numbing dread away for a little while.

Lady Lorana gazed at me quietly for a minute and, for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of respect in her eyes. She was, I decided right then, a good person and perhaps we would have liked each other had we not met like this. Lady Lorana did not want to kill Liana or have her tortured for a small collection of secrets and code. Torturing and ultimately killing a young woman did not sit at all well with this woman. But this was how we had met: Lorana to Liana. Perhaps, if I made it out of this alive and we met as Lady Lorana and Zoe then better words could be spoken and in better company to.

"Take her away," said the Lady to the guard who gripped my arm with such bruising strength. "And when she is ready to speak, have her brought to me."

The only slightly reassuring thing about those words was the 'brought to me' and not 'brought to the magician.' She hadn't even said what should be done to me during the time when I was not going to speak. Of course that did not mean anything for the magician was gazing at me with cold eyes and I rather doubted he would be able to remain patient.

But…but well that was the end of that conversation as civilized as it had been and I don't see why you would want me to describe being dragged by a numb arm to a prison cell.

I sat there with my back pressed hard against the slimy wall of the cell. As I sat there in the dark silence I could think of nothing. My mind was empty; my heart a faint beat as I just sat there. I tried not to think of how Helvard had died. I tried to block out the pleading, pitiful look on his face before he'd died. I hadn't liked him, but he hadn't deserved to be killed that way.

In the darkness of my cell I had abandoned Liana's illusion. I sat there with my own face and coloring because it made me feel a little better and no one was there to see me anyways. I continued sitting, staring at the dark wall I could just barely make out in the gloom of the cell. What could I do? I had a knife hidden under my clothes but what good would that do me. Seeking comfort, I drew it out and examined Runon's blade. She had given it to me to be used but - so far - it had done little but stay hidden.

The manacles rattled as I shifted my hand slightly to the right.

How sharp was this blade? Sharp enough to cut through the rusted, flaking chains that bound me to this stone floor? Maybe…just maybe it was. I lowered the knife to one of the bottom links of chain and pressed the blade against one of the bottom links. The knife sliced through it as if it was cutting through butter. The crumbling, old metal was no match for the finest of elven daggers. I had to stop it forcibly before it cut through the second side of the link. I did not want to reveal that I had a knife of such use in possession until…well until I figured a way out of this mess.

And I would find a way out.

I stared at the silver blade for a long while. How remarkable to be given this knife and to have hung onto it like this. I pressed myself against the wall and closed my eyes tightly, preferring the darkness of my closed eyelids to the pressing darkness of the cell. I was very alone here. When I had been in prison the last time, it had not felt like this. There may have been Durza and I had nearly been killed by his hand but I had still had that air of naïve determination that all would work out. I didn't have memories of all the times things hadn't worked out – I didn't even know my real name then or known what exactly I was doing there. Besdies, Brom and Murtagh had been there. I had known that Murtagh had come in the book so – surely – he could do it again. Then I had been nothing but a run-away girl to the Shade but now I was a spy, a prisoner of war that has never - in the history of war - traditionally been treated well. No one has much respect for a spy – its considered dishonorable and a necessary evil. Marco was gone and the Varden were still a day or more or who knows how long away. Now, not for the last time but the first time in this world, I was a clearly marked enemy with nowhere to run and not a single soul to help me.

What was the song? The song sung about a spy telling his friend to go so that he at least could see their homeland once more?

_Oh! Ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low road…_

Yes, that was the song. Why I recalled such an obscure bit of nothing was beyond me but the song seemed so appropriate for this entire mess. I could picture the scene so very clearly before me and I knew exactly how those two spies must have felt. It was a little too close to the bone, reader.

The song echoed on and on in my mind. I tapped out the tune on the cold stone floor as the lyrics played over and over, complete with the rolling Scottish accent that had sung them the first time I heard the song.

_Ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low road…_

I do not know how long it was before I heard it.

Hours?

Minutes?

Seconds?

I do not know.

For, in the deep silence that muffled my cell, I heard it as nothing more than a faint 'pat' on stone. It was as if someone was patting the flat of their hand on something hard to see if it would give. I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't a high ceiling. In fact, I could have touched it easily enough with my hands if I had stood up. The soft sound of something or someone unsettled me and I stared desperately up at the too close stone.

There was a sudden rustle and a shifting of stone and metal. Then, to my utmost surprise, something large and black seemed to…well just fall _out_ of the ceiling as impossible as that sounds. And then, as I sat there totally motionless, the black shape turned its head to gaze at me with bright, slightly slanted eyes. My heart leapt as I realized just _who_ was gazing at me.

For a second I could not do anything.

Because here I was – imprisoned and very alone - and who jumps out of the stone ceiling? The chances are so remote and the situation so very strange to my exhausted mind that I nearly laughed. However, I reined myself in and did my best to be polite despite the wildness of the situation. I was so lost and so alone that it would not do to offend him.

_Solembum, _I acknowledged.

_Are you just going to sit there? _inquired the werecat as he regarded me and flicked his tail from side to side as if he did this every day. _That seems like a waste._

_I wasn't planning on sitting forever,_ I said casually. _But until the right moment comes then I see little point wasting energy. _

The werecat rose and ambled over, rubbing his head against the shoulder. I rubbed him gently behind his ears and, for a few moments, we said nothing. Until, his voice conversational, Solembum said, _But what if that moment is now? _

_Then I am ready. _

_Ready for anything?_

I raised an eyebrow at him and chuckled. Ready for anything? No, I was not ready for anything but I was damn near ready for a lot of things. I was nearly ready for anything – I would go very nearly any lengths to get out of this place and prevent the terrible thing that I knew was being planned by a cruel man drunk on his own power just a few floors above my head. Besides, I had a duty to the Varden and to the worlds upon worlds whose fates rested on this war being won by my side.

_It depends, _I replied carefully, _on just what you are proposing. _

Solembum yawned hugely and regarded me for a moment. Perhaps he thought we had all the time in world and maybe right then we did.

_Wise reply, _said the werecat at last._ But you will have to follow me. _

_I can do that. _I straightened a little and the werecat turned away and sauntered over to the place where he had landed. He paused and looked back at me for a moment before, very casually, jumping straight up into the shadowy ceiling in a single leap. In that smooth movement he completely vanished from my sight.

And I knew I was supposed to follow him.

A rope suddenly dropped down and I could not help but smile. The world works in strange ways sometimes and, as I swiftly cut the cuffs around my ankles, I felt the fire kindle once more in me. But this fire was a different kind and it was quickly being flamed into something much bigger than a faint warm glimmer that made me feel a little more confident in my skills.

Girl. I _hated _to be called that. He had called me _girl. _And that made me _angry. _

And I _hated _people who tried to kill my friends.

No.

This was no small, hopeful, isolated flame lost in the wilderness.

This was an inferno.

And it would not be extinguished easily.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I am sorry for the long long wait. Summer has gotten away from me. The next chapter shouldn't take as long and it will include Roran - haven't seen him for a while - and Brom as well as more AngelaZoe/Solembum adventure. _**

**_Enjoy! and don't forget that reviews go a long way in motivating me to write! ;) _**


	82. Nearing the End

"Runon-elda," said Murtagh as he stepped into the sheltered forge. Evening was beginning to fall and the warm light of the forge spread out, pushing the shadows back.

"What are you doing here?" snapped the elf smith as she readjusted a piece of raw metal she was working on.

The young man shrugged. He had been drawn to the place out of curiosity.

"Have you used Zar'roc?"

The question was so surprising and startling that Murtagh was at a loss for words for a few moments. Then, gathering his wits, he managed to say, "I only recently acquired it. Before Zar'roc I used a hand-and-a-half sword for many years. I am…competent with a blade."

The smith leveled a very serious look at him. "You have not practiced your swordsmanship at all since arriving here?"

The Rider very nearly flushed and he could not completely hide the frustration and annoyance that flitted across his face. "I have done sword drills," he admitted. "But that is not the same as an actual duel."

"And they plan to send you back into battle…" said the smith under her breath. Runon stood and walked to a corner of her forge and pulled a sheathed sword off the wall. "Come," she said to Murtagh, "I want to see what you are made of."

"I am no elf."

"That is a useless excuse."

The elf smith drew the sword and swung it a few times through the air. Her gaze was expectant and Murtagh had to force himself to move forward and draw his own sword.

_Fight well, _said Thorn as he backed away from the two duelers so they had more space.

Zar'roc still felt strange in Murtagh's hand. He had fought with one sword for so long that the switch to the ruby blade had thrown him somewhat. While Zar'roc was the right shape, weight and size for him – Murtagh still didn't know how he felt about that – it was still new to his hand. He would have liked nothing better than to have a few duels with Zoe or Eragon before challenging an elf who must be a master of the blade even if she hadn't used one in centuries.

Apprehension made his first few moves more cautious then they should have been and Runon called him on it.

"You won't learn your sword if you do not use it," she told him with a stern look. "Come, son of Morzan, show me how well you fight."

It was the 'son of Morzan' part that kick started him. Hefting his sword once more, Murtagh let go of his fears and allowed Zar'roc to settle into his hand. By forgetting that the sword was new, the opponent vastly superior and the time since he had last dueled far too long, he felt the familiar assurance that usually filled him when he fought return. A sword was a sword. And he knew how a sword should move, how one should let the momentum of a swing carry through and how to read the opponent not just through their strikes but through the air that surrounded them.

Once he found his confidence, Murtagh found himself enjoying the chance to duel once more. Runon was the best he had ever fought, better than Tornac or Arya or Zoe. However, he knew she was not there to win that day. There were times when she could have pressed her account but purposely slowed her strike – though it was plenty fast enough – and gave him time to bring his own sword up. When it ended in a flurry of blows and Murtagh found himself staring cross eyed down the length of the elf's sword, there was only a deep sense of satisfaction and a hunger to return to his previous level – and then surpass it – of skill.

"Not bad," said Runon with a nod. "Come back tomorrow – same time."

Murtagh bowed his head and sheathed his sword. "I would be honored."

"Don't be," said the elf as she strode back over to her forge.

Murtagh smiled and, with one hand resting on Thorn's shoulder and the other on the hilt of his sword, he left without another word.

_You fought well, _said the dragon as they walked.

_Not as well as I can, _said Murtagh. _But it felt good._

They were halfway back to their tree top residence when Murtagh felt the now familiar touch of Glaedr's mind upon his own.

_Murtagh, _said the golden dragon, _come and see us. We have news for you._

_News? _said Thorn curiously.

_News! _Murtagh said and his pace increased. He stopped briefly at his rooms so that he could change and quickly wash his face. Then, running with Thorn flying just above, Murtagh ran along the now very familiar path. When he emerged into the grassy clearing he saw the usual scene of Oromis sitting just outside his small cottage and Glaedr curled up in the last of the fading rays of sunlight just beside him.

"Murtagh," said the elf. "You came quicker than I expected."

"You have news?" asked the young Rider after hurrying through the official greetings and hand movements. He found them tedious but necessary.

"The Varden is moving to attack Feinster tonight," said the elf. "While we cannot observe all the fighting I thought you would want to watch with me through a scrying mirror. Brom, Zoe, Arya and Nasuada will all be warded against my spell but there are others we can watch. Besides," he continued, "it will be a good chance for you to practice your hold over magic."

Murtagh didn't care if it was good for his learning. All he cared about was the chance to see what was actually occurring beyond the borders of this forest. He may be sitting out this fight but – confound it all – he wasn't going to be in the dark about it. Following Oromis into the small cottage he accepted a seat at the small table and watched as Oromis stood before a large mirror. He was half listening as his instructor took a moment to remind Murtagh how a scrying spell worked and the various things to remember when casting it.

The mirror shimmered and an image of the city of Feinster flickered across it. The tall walls of the city and the inner keep were falling into shadow as the sun sank towards the rim of the horizon. Murtagh leaned forward as his eyes scanned the streets and, camped a few short miles away, the Varden's camp. The image was perfectly clear and Murtagh could make out the guards pacing the city walls.

Somewhere…somewhere in the city laid out before him was Zoe. He knew he couldn't see her but that didn't stop him from gazing intensely at the image. Miles and miles separated him from this conflict but if he couldn't be there with sword in hand then he would be there as much as he could through this tenuous magic connection.

"Gods..." he whispered under his breath. "I wish I was there."

"They are there," said Oromis quietly. "You can't change that, Murtagh."

"I still wish I was there," said Murtagh as he paced the grassy clearing restlessly. "I should be there."

"You will be there soon."

"Not soon enough." He stopped for a moment, "Do you think anything has happened to her?"

There was a pause, and then Oromis asked, "To who?"

"To Zoe," said Murtagh not caring that he was revealing a little too much of his inner feelings. "But I think I would know if anything has happened to her. I would feel it." He pressed his hands into the small of his back and kept pacing.

The elf said nothing for a long time until, suddenly, he broke the silence.

"Murtagh," said Oromis. "You may refuse to answer this question but I ask you: What do you think of Galabatorix? You are the first person since the Fall that I have met who has spent time with the King."

The red Rider froze. The question hit him hard and he didn't know how to respond. Was this a test? Searching for the words Murtagh said, "Know him? I met him a handful of times and sometimes he was charming and others he was not. He saw Morzan when he looked at me." Turning so that met the silver eyes of the elf Murtagh said, "His madness is liable to devastate this world and every adjoining world – that is all I know of him and all I care to know of him."

"It will be a long night," said the silver haired elf as he turned back to the scrying mirror.

"Yes," said the young man. "It will."

* * *

><p>The narrow space in which I crouched beside Solembum was making me - not claustrophobic by nature - feel distinctly cramped and almost, not quite, but almost panicked. The space extended what felt endlessly on either side but above and below was cold, hard stone. My muscles were growing stiff and sore the longer I crouched there.<p>

_What now? _

_We wait, _said the were cat. _The battle for Feinster has yet to truly begin. _

I settled back against the stone. It was easier to think about what I had to do then where I was. Of course what I had to do wasn't very pleasant to think about but I had to and I had to plan using the precious little I knew about how the battle would play out. The siege of the city of Feinster was out of my control and I didn't really want to interfere with it either. Nasuada and co. should have it under control and - even if they didn't - I couldn't do anything about it from this hidden tunnel deep under the city.

_It was foolish of you to allow yourself to be captured so. _

I rolled my eyes. _It was not intentional I assure you. _

_Angela said you were clever. _

_Careful werecat, _I said coldly, _I can see enough to catch your tail and…_I let my voice trail off suggestively. I did not want to take any more lip then I had to from this irritating cat.

For a time we sat in silence, me nursing my wounded pride and Solembum cleaning one paw with fastidious care. Finally the were cat spoke, _Angela is in the city. She dislikes small spaces such. _

I digested his words and then asked, _How did you find me? _

_It wasn't hard, _said the werecat. _Just as it isn't hard to go places unseen and unnoticed when your small. Humans are so oblivious. _

I chuckled. A typical Solembum response but I did not challenge it for more specific details. Feinster seemed a city and a castle built over and around a complex warren of passageways, twisting stairs and barred doors covered by dusty tapestries. Perhaps, long ago, someone had tried to remodel both the city and the castle but, in doing so, left bits and pieces of the old in the most random places. Somehow Solembum or Angela knew about these empty and forgotten spaces. Perhaps they had even had a hand in getting me thrown into that particular cell because they knew a way of getting out of it. I didn't, at that particular moment, want to know what all had gone into this moment with Solembum licking his paw and me staring into darkness.

My life was complicated enough and filled with enough deception and layers of stories without adding those of such interesting and complex characters as Angela or Solembum.

_Come on, _said Solembum at last, _we should go now. I think we have waited long enough. The guard will be switching soon and the Varden will begin their attack upon the main gates._

* * *

><p>"Be safe," murmured Katrina as she buckled the last piece of armor into place. "Come home."<p>

Roran gently gripped her small hands in his own large, calloused ones. "I will," he said.

She tried to smile but failed miserably. "Go now," she said, "and then come back to me."

He nodded; his throat too tight to force any words out and his eyes already beginning to mist over. It wouldn't do to cry in front of her or allow the nerves and fears that churned within him to get the best of him. Turning away, Roran made his way out of the hastily pitched tent he shared with his wife and towards the trampled field where the Varden were assembling.

Roran took a steadying breath, he knew his warriors would be waiting for him and that, once he arrived at the field, he would need to seek out Jörmundur's division and, after reporting to Jörmundur, make his way to his posted position.

Accidently or not, Roran found himself falling into step beside an Urgal he knew quite well. Yarbog had challenged the young man to hand to hand combat. The Urgal had not only wished to challenge Roran's leadership but also ascertain whether the young man was worthy of even being a leader. It had been a fight that had Roran actually stopped to consider what he was doing, he would never have entered into. However, whether it was through skill or simple sheer stubbornness Roran had emerged the victor. Since then, whenever he encountered Yarbog, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of connection with the Urgal.

The Urgal glanced at him, then grunted, "A good day for a battle."

"Yes," he said and they kept walking.

"A word Roran?" came a voice from behind him.

Turning the young man saw Brom striding towards him. The older man was dressed in light armor and he had a black cloak thrown over his shoulders that billowed around him slightly. He looked older then Roran remembered him being that morning but also more energized. His eyes had a distinct gleam to them that the young man found slightly unnerving.

Before Roran could say anything, the older man put an arm on his shoulder and guided him away from the camp and towards the tall, dark walls of Fenister. When they had reached the very edge of camp – it seemed so deserted here – they finally stopped.

Brom turned and, with one hand gripping his armored shoulder, he said quietly, "I need your help."

"My help?"

"Zoe," said the man in a low voice, "is currently inside Feinster. She has been there for the past few weeks and, in preparation of our arrival, she has opened to entrances into the city and one into the keep itself." Brom was about to continue when, suddenly, he whipped his head around to stare at the grim walls of the city. His eyes narrowed and Roran, unsure what was happening, froze as he struggled to understand what was going on. It was hard to see anything in the rapidly deepening gloom.

"Brom?" he asked.

But the man didn't reply. Instead he drew his sword and stepped forward saying, as he did so, "Who goes?"

Out of the shadows, stumbling slightly, came the form of a young man. His hair was sweaty and his face streaked with blood and mud. His clothes – work man's garb – were also stained with blood and crusted with more mud. There was no sign of a weapon upon him.

"Marco," panted the young man as he came to a stop before Brom. He rested his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath before saying something in the language that the elves spoke. Whatever he said was clearly enough for Brom whose face suddenly went very still.

"I see," said the older man. "Come with me," he said to the young man with a flick of his fingers back towards the Varden.

Not sure if he should or shouldn't, Roran followed Brom and the still winded and bloodied young man. They didn't go far into the maze of tents before Brom pushed open the flap to one tent and gestured for them to enter. When Roran hesitated the older man waved his hand briskly towards the interior.

The second the tent flap fell closed behind them, Brom turned his gaze to Marco who had sunk into the only chair in the tiny space, his eyes were downcast and his shoulders hunched forward.

"Where is Z…Lianna?" said the older man in a low voice.

"She is still in Feinster," said the young man without looking up. "We were found out…one of us is dead. Lianna is under arrest. She ordered me to leave and come to you."

"What do you mean?" asked Brom in an even lower hiss. "Do you mean to tell me that the head of the spy unit – your commander – is currently held in Empire cells?" The voice dropped but the fury only increased. "You mean to tell me that you left her there?"

Roran had to hand it to the dark haired, pale skinned spy. The man did not move a muscle or even flinch beneath the anger directed at him, a feat, Roran was sure, he could not have managed.

"Yes," said Marco calmly. "I mean exactly that."

Brom turned away. His entire posture radiated tension and Roran felt distinctly uncomfortable in the tight space.

"Damn."

Roran winced at the very accurate and very short, angry word. "Brom," he said hesitantly, "do you still need me?"

"Of course," snapped the man. "I need you now more than ever, Roran." Brom turned his gaze to Marco, "I want a full report and I want it quickly."

Marco gave it. He spoke of how they had been found out, the small skirmish in the central courtyard of the keep and how Liana – which had to be Zoe – had sent him on to Brom with word of what had occurred. Marco finished with: "I also have to inform you of another piece of intelligence. The magicians inside Feinster are planning to raise a Shade to confront Rider Eragon."

"A Shade!" snapped Brom.

_A Shade, _thought Roran with horror. Eragon and Saphire weren't back. The Varden's only 'Shadeslayer' was not appearing on the horizon and there was no telling when he would be back. Roran had heard many versions of how his cousin had defeated the Shade 'Durza' and all of them seemed to emphasize just how lucky Eragon had been to escape with only a scar.

"A Shade," confirmed Marco and there was clear dread in his voice. "They plan to raise it at some point during the battle if it appears that the Varden are winning. The leader of the Empire's mages is mad, drunk on power and desperate to prove himself to the King."

"Where are they…" said Brom very softly and Roran was sure he meant Eragon and Saphira. "No matter," said the man, "you, Roran, and you, Marco, are going to stick together."

Drawing a sheathed sword, an unstrung bow, quiver and another strangely shaped object wrapped in black cloth, the man presented them to Roran. The young man stared down at the intricate hilt of the blade, it was heavy in his hands and he shivered when his hand came in contact with the glittering diamond set in its pommel. He knew, without having to think about it, that he was not meant to hold this sword. The weapon seemed to resent his touch. These, he suddenly realized, were Zoe's weapons. He had seen them hanging from her side, glinting dangerously when the light caught them, and it was very strange to now hold them in his hands.

"What…" he began but he was quickly cut off.

"Not now. You, Roran, are to make sure that these weapons get to their true owner. Marco is going to help you find her. The two of you are going to have to work together."

"Sir," said Marco and his eyes flicked to Roran and then back to the older man. "How are we to find her? They could have her anywhere."

"Why aren't you coming with us?" demanded Roran. He was suddenly quite done with Brom's current method of ordering him about and there was real fear growing within him. If Zoe was captured then surely she would be held in the most secure cell. Along with that was the real possibility of another Shade being created, Eragon and Saphira's continued absence and the idea of working alongside this unknown and strange Marco.

"I can't come with you because I am needed here. I must find Arya and the other elven spell casters and warn them," said Brom and his eyebrows drew down into a ferocious frown that silenced the protests quickly forming on Roran's tongue. "And I am counting on your supposed abilities as a spy, Marco, to help you find her and get her out of there. We will need her help before the end of tonight." The elder man moved towards the tent flap, "I suggest waiting until the Varden have breached the gates. Then you will have an easier time of it entering the city."

With a dramatic wave of his arm, Brom pulled the flap of the tent back and gestured outside. "Go," he said and it was as much of an order as any Nasuada or King Orrin could deliver.

Securing the sword to his belt alongside his hammer and the black wrapped package which, he had realized, must be the elegant horn that often hung at Zoe's side. The bow and quiver went on his back. With the strange dark haired Marco at his side, Roran turned his gaze to the tall walls of Feinster. Suddenly he had more to worry about then just surviving the night or his men surviving the night. He remembered thinking how strange it was to be included in the discussions of command the first time he had met Nasuada after the Battle of the Burning Plains when Eragon had had him accompany him. Now, he thought darkly, he would love it if people would just forget about him and he could disappear into the nameless sea of soldiers that lived and died when war came to a land.

_Hurry Eragon…we need you._

* * *

><p>The wind was chill against Eragon's face as Saphira adjusted the direction of her flight.<p>

Feinster glowed distantly on the horizon and the Rider felt the familiar, dreaded buzz of adrenalin and fear growing within him. What now? Back to the bloody blur of battle. Or, thought the Rider darkly, if they were lucky then they would arrive in time for battle and not too late. The worst would be arriving just in time to see the Varden hoisting a white flag into the night air.

The Rider gripped the neck spike in front of him and gazed up at the stars above. He felt so close to the heavens when Saphira flew above the clouds on a clear night. The stars and the darkness around him were calming. Surrounded by such quietness it was harder for the memories of blood spurting from severed limbs and the screams of wounded men or the white-hot pain of a sword slicing through his own flesh to trouble his mind.

The dread still lingered but it could not take control of him when he focused on the present - the peaceful present - as he had for the past two days of constant flying.

_You are calmer then usual, _noted Saphira as she angled her wings slightly to the right. Her voice was tired and Eragon knew that her wing muscles burned with the past hours of exertion. She had refused his offer to ease her suffering with a spell, arguing that saving his strength was more important.

_I am trying to be_, he said quietly. _This coming battle is going to be different then the others…something is not right and I cannot be ready for it if I am not calm enough to think. _

_Wise, _said the dragon, _but I do not like your warning. _

_You know of what I speak. _

_Yes, _said the dragoness and there was unease in her voice. _But what may await us in Feinster is anyone's guess…_

The conversation petered out as the two settled into companionable silence, more content to be in each other's presence then uncover the mystery of the future. It had been a few hours since dusk and the darkness was complete. Suddenly Saphira wobbled and dropped several feet in a single, sickening lurch. Eragon straightened, alarmed, and looked around for any clues as to what had caused the disturbance but saw only blackness below and the glittering stars above.

_I think we just reached the Jiet River, _said Saphira. _The air here is cool and moist, as it would be_ _over water._

_Then Feinster shouldn't be much farther ahead. Are you sure you can find the city in the dark?_

_No, we could not. My sense of direction may not be infallible, but it is certainly better than yours or_ _that of any other earthbound creature. If the elf maps we have seen were accurate, then we cannot be_ _off by more than fifty miles north or south of Feinster, and at this height, we can easily see the city_ _over that distance. We may even be able to smell the smoke from their chimneys._

And so it was.

A breeze sped Saphira's flight and it wasn't long before a dull red glow appeared upon the western horizon. Seeing it, Eragon twisted around and removed the few light pieces of armor he carried with him from his saddlebags. He didn't have much but there wasn't time to stop and dig it out of the bags he had left with Brom. His instincts were humming with warning and the Rider worried that he had lingered too long in Du Weldenvarden. What if the Varden were engaged in a losing siege?

Then Eragon rummaged with one hand through the contents of his bags until he found the silver flask of faelnirv Oromis had given him. The metal container was cool to the touch. Eragon drank a small sip of the enchanted liqueur, which seared the inside of his mouth and which tasted of elderberries and mead and mulled cider. Heat suffused his face. Within seconds, his weariness began to recede as the restorative properties of the faelnirv took effect.

As he and Saphira drew closer, the glow on the horizon resolved into thousands of individual points of light, from small handheld lanterns to cookfires to bonfires to huge patches of burning pitch that poured a foul black smoke into the night sky. By the ruddy light of the fires, Eragon saw a sea of flashing spearpoints and gleaming helmets surging against the base of the large, well-fortified city, the walls of which teemed with tiny figures busy firing arrows at the army below, pouring cauldrons of boiling oill between the merlons of the parapet, cutting ropes thrown over the walls, and pushing away the rickety wooden ladders the besiegers kept leaning against the ramparts. Faint calls and cries floated upward from the ground, as well as the boom of a battering ram crashing against the city's iron gates.

The last of Eragon's weariness vanished as he studied the battlefield with methodical and practiced care. He noted the placement of the men and the buildings and the various pieces of war machinery. Extending outward from the walls of Feinster were hundreds of ramshackle hovels crammed one against another, with hardly enough room for a horse to pass between: the dwellings of those too poor to afford a house within the main part of the city.

Most of the hovels appeared deserted, and a wide swath had been demolished so that the Varden could approach the city walls in force. A score or more of the mean huts were burning, and even as he watched, the fires spread, leaping from one thatched roof to another. East of the hovels, curved black lines scored the earth where trenches had been excavated to protect the Varden's camp. On the other side of the city were docks and wharves similar to those Eragon remembered from Teirm, and then the dark and restless ocean that seemed to extend to infinity.

A thrill of feral excitement ran through Eragon, and he felt Saphira shiver underneath him at the same time. He gripped the hilt of Brisingr. _They don't seem to have noticed us yet. Shall we announce our_ _arrival?_

Saphira answered him by loosing a roar that made his teeth rattle and by painting the sky in front of them with a thick sheet of blue fire.

Below, the Varden at the foot of the city and the defenders upon the ramparts paused, and for a moment, silence enveloped the battlefield. Then the Varden began to cheer and bang their spears and swords against their shields while great groans of despair wafted from the people of the city.

_Ah! _exclaimed Eragon, blinking. _I wish you hadn't done that. Now I can't see anything_.

_Sorry._

Still blinking, he said, _The first thing we should do is find a horse that just died, or some other_ _animal, so that I can replenish your strength with theirs_.

_You don't have—_

Saphira stopped talking as another mind touched theirs. After a half second of panic, Eragon recognized the consciousness as that of Trianna. _Eragon, Saphira! _cried the sorceress. _You're just in time! Arya and_ _another elf are within the walls but they have been trapped by a large group of soldiers. They won't survive_ _another minute unless someone helps them! Hurry!_

* * *

><p>They had made it this far, Roran was sure, on nothing but blind luck.<p>

Through the chaos of the city where soldiers ran to and fro and then along a stone passageway that Marco somehow knew about. The entrance had been a moveable stone paver in an alley way and the exit a hidden doorway behind a tapestry. They had hurried from the top of a turret and through a myriad of corridors, servants exits and past more than one tense, worried guard. The two had hidden behind curtains, statutes and - regrettably - been forced to pause their hasty journey just long enough to knock one or two alarmed guards over the head.

Now they crouched behind a statue and watched the two guards standing on either side of a open doorframe that led, Marco had hissed, to the lowest levels of the fortress. In other words, Roran had surmised, they led to the cells where the prisoners were kept. The man was so closed tongued that Roran had to fill in most of the blanks with his own conclusions.

The two guards were speaking in low voices to each other. Roran could only catch the occasional word but, from what he could tell, all that was said was drabble about what might be happening outside the fortress and whether the Varden really were led by a Shade or whether it was only a minor demon-like thing.

However, just as Roran was beginning to grow stiff and long for something to happen to speed up the process, one of the guards mentioned a name: Liana. Focusing even harder on what was being said by the two chatty guardsmen, Roran caught the tail end of a sentence: "…don't know why they stuck 'er all the way down there. Last cell an' all…Will be a right pain in the arse to cart her all the way back up three flights of stairs…"

Roran and Marco exchanged a significant look. Roran jerked his head toward the two guards and tapped a finger against the hammer strapped to his waist. Marco shook his head and held up one hand with fingers splayed and Roran nodded. They were going to wait five minutes until the guard was changed and then slip in during those few seconds where there was no one standing guard. Or at least, Roran thought, that was what Marco meant.

These spy types, he decided, were really far more trouble then they were worth in the end. In the two encounters he had had with them, Roran had nearly lost his life, disobeyed orders, nearly been executed for disobeying orders, confounded by the stories a man could tell themselves and found himself, in the end, utterly confused about what was right or wrong, true or untrue.

* * *

><p>The flagstone shifted above me and with one final push it finally moved enough for a small chink of light to enter the dark space. With one more quick check with my mind to ensure there was no one coming, I shifted the heavy stone paver to the side just enough to allow me to pull myself up. Solembum leapt up a moment later.<p>

We had emerged into some sort of store room. Boxes and heavy trunks lined the walls and my eyes, adjusted to dim light, could just make out the edges of a door. I stood and brushed the worst of the dust and dirt from my bloodied dress. How I wished I was in more practical clothes then this. A dress is just simply not designed for crawling around in dark passages or the rough and tumble of a battle. Already the thin material was ripped, stained and, in general, utterly ruined.

Solembum brushed passed me and said, _Follow me. _

Moving slowly so as not trip over something and fall flat on my face, I trailed behind the werecat and, after a moment spent quietly searching for approaching servants or guards, I opened the door. It took a little bit of doing to convince the stiff latch and hinges to move along with a little magic to stop them from screeching in the process but at last it swung open.

Solembum slipped out before me and then I followed, moving quickly but as silently as I could. We hadn't gone very far, maybe half way up the narrow corridor lit every few feet by torches when I sensed the rapidly approaching presence of a guard. Solembum hissed beside me, his hackles rising as he realized what I had just realized. The two of us stopped, freezing in place as we stared at the place where - any time now - the guard would appear.

_What should we do? _

_Avoid conflict, _said the werecat, _we can't afford to cause a scene and attract more notice. _

At that moment, just as we neared the bend in the corridor, the man appeared. He was walking briskly and his eyes were on the floor. For a second he didn't see the two of us - such a strange and unlikely pair - but that only lasted for a second. When he did see us - Solembum in cat form and me in my bloody dress - he froze just as we had.

A second passed where we just stared at each other but that was as long as it lasted. The soldier went to open his mouth, his sword up and I knew exactly what he was going with a sick feeling in my stomach. Without considering how or what I was about to do, I focused all my will power on a mental probe that easily pierced the man's weak defences. I briefly caught glimpses of his thoughts before I ruthlessly asserted my own will power over him. It had none of the precision that I usually tried to assert over such things - it was brutal, swift and decisive.

I half caught the unconscious soldier as he dropped towards the floor. He would wake - eventually - and for now I dragged him behind a heavy curtain where he would sleep for a time and, if he was lucky, wake up after all the fighting was over. He may even live and that would be more than what many of his compatriots would. Sometimes, reader, it is good to meet a blood stained girl and a werecat on a black night during the middle of a battle. You just might live.

Solembum nudged my hand as I settled the fabric over the unmoving man, _Come on._

* * *

><p>Roran could not help but think that the row of cells and the suffocating darkness of the place was terribly like the Ra'zacs layer where he had rescued Katrina with Eragon and Saphira's help. He wished that the torches they had taken from the brackets at the bottom of the steps sent out more light and heat to drive away the shadows and dampness.<p>

Following the overheard words of the two guards, Roran and Marco did not waste valuable time searching each iron bound door but headed straight for the stone stairs that curved down into darkness at the end of the corridor.

When they finally reached the lowest level and came at last to the cell on the farthest right hand corner, they did not find the person they had been sent to find. When the door was unbolted it swung open to show nothing but a bare cell with a low ceiling. Chains and cuffs lay scattered on the floor. Marco stooped to pick up a small scrap of fabric that had been ripped on the hinge of the heavy door.

"This was from her cloak," said the man. His voice was strained and emotional. "She was here."

"Not anymore," said Roran with frustration and worry. "I don't think she has been here for some time." He stepped into the cell, holding the torch high as he tried to illuminate anything that might tell them where Zoe had gone.

"We need to go," said Marco urgently. "Liana isn't here and we could be found..."

Roran sent one last searching gaze around the empty cell that had, at some point, held Zoe. The broken links of chain were evidence of that. It didn't sit well with him to leave and not even come close to finding out what had happened here. He hadn't done this before - come so far or tried so hard to find nothing at all at the end.

But Marco was right. They did need to go and as quickly - silently - as shadows across a wall.

"Your right," he managed to drag out.

They were a few feet back up the corridor when Roran's conscious refused to let him take one more step. He took one last look behind him at the empty cell where Liana...no Zoe should have - had - been. Eragon wouldn't have just walked away and Zoe definitely wouldn't have. None of the heroes in stories or the real life, honest to goodness ones that he had met - both ordinary and not so ordinary - would have turned away like this. _What would you do, Roran Stronghammer? _The words of the dead spy echoed through his mind as clear as they had been the day they had been spoken.

"I changed my mind," Roran said shortly. On one level - thinking coldly, practically, logically - he knew that it made sense to run, hide and regroup. However, he also knew that sometimes stupidity saved more lives and won more battles. His own success as a commander showed that more than was probably healthy. He looked at Marco who was regarding him with quiet watchfulness. "She isn't here. She could be anywhere. But you know how to open this place up...don't you?"

"If you mean," said Marco carefully, "that I know how to open the gates then...then you would be correct."

"We need to open them."

The young man raised one eyebrow. "That is a risky proposition, Roran Stronghammer."

"This entire war is a risky proposition," said the young man who was already moving back up the abandoned corridor lined with silent cell doors.

"Fair point," said Marco as he kept up with the others long, heavy steps with quick ones of his own.

They had just reached the first set of stairs when a cloaked figure suddenly stepped out from the shadows that cloaked the blank space directly beside the steep steps. The sudden movement and appearance startled both Marco and Roran enough that the two young man froze where they stood, belatedly reaching for weapons.

"No need for that," said a distinctly female voice. "We are, after all, working for the same side." With a dramatic flourish of a gloved hand the woman pushed the thick hood of her cloak back to reveal,in the flickering torch light, a full head of red hair and bright - almost manic - eyes.

"Angela," breathed Marco from beside Roran.

"You know each other?" asked Roran confused. He had seen the woman during his time with the Varden's these past weeks but done his best to steer clear of her. Most of what he knew about her came from Eragon who had spoken of her highly during the conversation the Rider had had with Roran after the Battle of the Burning Plains.

"Only of each other," said Marco in a low voice. The young man gave a slight bow, "It is an honour to finally meet the woman behind the stories."

Angela sniffed. "There isn't time for compliments - pretty as those are. The battle is about to get…well interesting. And I will take those," said Angela with a wave of her hand towards the silvery, elegant weapons Roran had slung across his back. "I know where their owner is and she will have need of them very soon."

Roran was reluctant to pass off the sword, quiver and horn to this woman. However, the words spoken by Eragon and the distinct feeling that he just should not be holding these weapons made him undo the buckles and hand them over. He could only hope his cousin's words of praise for the woman were well founded in actual fact. The second the sword left his side he felt somehow lighter as if the weapon had been some great weight both physically and mentally. He did not want to know what would happen if he was to draw the sword from its sheath.

"See they do make it to her," he said warningly. "I do not want to be the fool held responsible for their loss."

Angela smiled widely at him and the weapons vanished beneath her voluminous cloak. "You have places to be getting to?"

Roran was quite prepared to stay and demand a promise at the very least from the woman but Marco grabbed his upper arm and cut across Roran's words. "We do Madame," and, with that, he pulled Roran towards the stairs and away from the strange woman.

"What was that for?" hissed Roran into the other man's ear as they hurriedly climbed the stone steps. "If she did anything with those weapons my head would…"

"You don't argue or insult a magic user," snapped Marco in an even lower hiss. "And that was a magic user of strange and powerful skill. I trust her and so must you."

Roran's face settled into a deep glower but he said nothing more. They were almost back to the top of the stairs and, from there, it would be touch and go if they wanted to make it to the gates of the keep relatively undetected and in one piece.

When they got to the gates…well Roran was quite sure he would have to put to good use the ruthless determination that he had discovered within himself these past months. It wouldn't be easy and it wouldn't be pleasant but Roran would see it through. His gaze flicked to Marco briefly and then forward again. Just the very sight of the other man brought to mind the dead spy and the words: _What would you do, Roran Stronghammer? _

_I will open the gates. I will let the Varden in and I will find Zoe. I will be Stronghammer, cousin to Eragon Shadeslayer._

* * *

><p>Eragon landed running straight towards Arya.<p>

In the first five minutes of Saphira's aerial attack she had managed to clear away the men that surrounded Arya and Blodhgarm as they struggled to reach the gate house. They had made it inside the walls - how was a mystery - but they had and, before Saphira's flaming arrival, they had been desperately trying to fend off a thicket of thrusting blades.

"Eragon!" cried Arya, running up to him. She was panting and drenched with sweat. Her only armor was a padded jerkin and a light helm painted black so it would not cast unwanted reflections.

"Welcome, Bjartskular. Welcome, Shadeslayer," purred Blödhgarm from by her side, his short fangs orange and glistening in the torchlight, his yellow eyes glowing. The ruff of fur on the elf's back and neck stood on end, which made him appear even fiercer than usual. Both he and Arya were stained with blood, although Eragon could not tell if the blood was theirs.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. His eyes swept over the two elves and then back to Arya, unable to tear his gaze away from her green eyes.

Arya shook her head, and Blödhgarm said, "A few scratches, but nothing serious."

_What are you doing here without reinforcements? _asked Saphira.

"The gates," said Arya, gasping. "Zoe opened a way into the city for us. They are impervious to magic. . ."

When Arya paused to regain her breath, Blödhgarm picked up the thread of her narrative. "Arya convinced Nasuada to stage tonight's attack so that we could sneak into Feinster without being noticed and open the gates from within. Unfortunately, we encountered a trio of spellcasters. They engaged us with their minds and prevented us from using magic while they summoned soldiers to overwhelm us with sheer numbers."

While Blödhgarm spoke, Eragon placed a hand on the chest of one of the dead soldiers and transferred what energy remained in the man's flesh into his own body, and thence to Saphira. "Where are the spellcasters now?" he asked, proceeding to another corpse.

Blödhgarm's fur-covered shoulders rose and fell. "They seem to have taken fright at your appearance, Shur'tugal."

_As well they should, _growled Saphira.

Eragon drained the energy from three more soldiers, and from the last, he also took the man's round wooden shield. "Well then," he said, standing, "let us go open the gates for the Varden, shall we?"

A cool kind of excitement filled him. Adrenalin was making it impossible for his fear to linger and some of Saphira's burning energy crossed over their mental link, exciting him and sharpening his senses.

"Yes, and without delay," said Arya. She started forward, then cast a sideways glance at Eragon. "You have a new sword." It was not a question.

He nodded. "Rhunön helped me to forge it."

"And what is the name of your weapon, Shadeslayer?" asked Blödhgarm.

Eragon didn't have time to reply. He just had time to send the elf a grin, a half shrug of his shoulders and then he leapt forward to engage the soldiers running towards them from the mouth of a dark alleyway. They would have time for conversation later. At least he hoped they would.

The next few minutes of fighting, running and more fighting passed in a blur for the Rider. When at last he had a chance to pause and catch his breath it was to see Arya and Blödhgarm emerging from the guard towers just as the gates groaned and swung outward, revealing the mass of grim-faced Varden, men and dwarves alike, crowded in the archway beyond.

"Shadeslayer!" they shouted, and also "Argetlam!" and "Welcome back! The hunting is good today!" The Rider acknowledged their words with a raised wave of his new sword. Brisingr's sapphire blade glittered red and blue in the torch light.

The Varden rushed forward, streaming into the city, their jangling armour and pounding boots creating a continuous, rolling thunder. Eragon turned to Arya, about to speak, but he didn't the chance. The sound of his name being called by an all too familiar and much loved voice made him spin, searching for the source.

Brom was fighting his way towards him.

"Eragon," panted the man, "you are here." There was open relief in Brom's voice and Eragon nearly smiled at the familiar sight of his father but the words Brom spoke next wiped any hint of joy or happiness from the Rider's face. They froze him, chilled him to very centre of his being. "There is a Shade."

"Where?" gasped Eragon as his eyes flew from face to face, soldier to soldier, in a pathetic effort to locate this 'Shade.'

"Not yet," said the older man, "but Zoe has given us a warning. A small group of Empire magicians are planning on raising a Shade…tonight."

"Not if I can help it," said the Rider, suddenly all grim determination and ferocity. He did not catch the worried, sad look that flitted across his father's face as the older man took in the sudden change in his son.

_Saphira? _

_I heard, _she said with a grim growl. _Where is Zoe? _

Brom shook his head, "She is…Roran has gone to find her. She will be alright."

If they had had more time then Eragon and Saphira would have questioned the strange response. They would have heard the worry that the man tried to conceal and put the dots together for it was strange not to have Zoe somewhere close by during such an important moment. Zoe was, quite simply, always there. Her presence always reassuring and she was always guiding with actions or words, the young woman's mysterious absence was horribly disconcerting. However, it was overshadowed by the events suddenly spinning out of the Rider and dragon's control and into a terrifying new direction.

"We need to get to the keep," said Eragon confidently. He cast his eyes around and found Arya and the other elves close by. They were gazing at him in shocked horror. Even Arya, usually so calm and collected, had a look of fear and dread on her face. The other elves were, to the Rider's surprise, not volunteering information or discussing it among themselves, but staring straight at him as if he somehow, after Durza, had all the answers when it came to the slaying of Shades.

He didn't.

However, he did remember all too well his last experience with a Shade and Eragon had no intention of repeating the mistakes that he and others had made. Durza had nearly destroyed them all through his cunning and strength. A little wiser, a little stronger and a little craftier then he had been then, the Rider was no less frightened then he had been all those weeks ago in Farthen Dur or even before that in Gil'ead.

Turning on a heel, he gestured towards the Varden soldiers still moving through the opened gates. As he and Saphira moved forward along with the other elves, the Rider murmured under his breath: "The more of us that come along for this…the better."

Eragon found himself standing in front of the heavily barricaded entrance to the inner keep of the city. They were standing a little ways back, Saphira's blue bulk hidden by a curve in the street. It had taken him and Saphira far longer to reach the gates of the inner keep then he had thought it would. Hours had slipped by and the night was quickly fading away, soon light would start to appear in the east. The more time that passed, the more tense and worried the Rider and dragon became. Any minute now, Eragon was sure, a Shade would confront them.

During the past few hours both Rider and dragon had lost their elven entourage - although he suspected they would appear any minute - and nearly been wounded or killed multiple times. Fighting in a city was far more dangerous and tricky then fighting in the open. Soldiers or archers would suddenly spring out at them, civilians would run passed screaming or try and defend their homes and, because of how narrow the streets were, Saphira became something of a danger to Eragon. Her tail or wings would clip a building and send masonry or wood scattering in all directions. Occasionally the Rider and dragon had fought with other Varden soldiers but, for the most part, they had been alone.

There had been some very ugly moments.

One had occurred just as he and Saphira had been about to embark on their mission to get to the inner keep and the magicians bent on summoning a Shade. A group of soldiers had tried to apprehend them and their leader had shouted some very obscene and rude comments about Eragon's appearance, his deeds and his association with dwarves, Urgals and elves. The words had washed over the Rider, troubling him little, but it was still unfortunate and so had been the brief, bloody fight that quickly followed it. Eragon knew it had been necessary, the men were not going to surrender for their loyalty to Lady Lorana was too strong, but it still seemed a waste.

The other unfortunate moment had been in a milliner's shop. Eragon had followed some soldiers to the building and, during his search for the men, found himself in the set of rooms above the shop where the owner and his family clearly lived. A young boy, seeking only to defend his home, had tried to stab Eragon in the side. The boy hadn't even come close to succeeding but, in his frightened eyes and limp grip around the hilt of the knife, had been a blow to the Rider. In the boy Eragon had seen himself. The memories of those days before Saphira, the ones immediately after her hatching and the emotions - turbulent and convoluted - had swept over him in the few seconds he stood before the boy. It had taken Saphira's prodding to get him to move.

Despite all this and how bloody and tired he was, Eragon was too determined to ever even think of stepping aside and leaving it to the Varden and their battering ram which was coming.

_We cannot wait for Arya and the others, _said Saphira. _I fear we don't have time. _

_You are right, _said Eragon. _I suppose the best thing to do would be…_

Suddenly, his keen eyes already attuned for the slightest sign of conflict, caught sight of some sort of movement on top of the battlements. There was a fight of some sort happening up there and the sound of shouting reached the Rider's ears. Before Eragon could do anything or discover exactly what was happening, there was the sudden sound of creaking wood and metal striking against stone.

The gates were opening.

Saphira growled. _What is happening? _

_I don't know, _said the Rider. He turned, his mental probe picking up on the rapidly approaching presence of Arya and Blodgarm.

The elves were running up the street towards them. Following them - at a much slower run - were Varden soldiers with weapons drawn and looks of grim determination on their faces. A group of Urgals in the centre of the running men were carrying a large - now useless - battering ram. A distracted part of his mind wondered, as his eyes hurriedly scanned the faces, where Roran was. He had not seen his cousin at all that night and it worried him.

"Hurry!" he called back to them, leaping up Saphira's shoulder and into her saddle. "The gates are opening!"

* * *

><p><em>I hate waiting here, <em>I muttered to the dim, dark shape of Solembum. _I should be doing something. _

_Patience, _purred the werecat. _Just because you aren't out there waving a sword around does not mean you aren't being useful. Think of all the men who will see a new dawn because they did not meet your sword. _

I wished, right then, that there was more light so that the infuriating werecat could receive one of my most poisonous glares.

It was quite clear to me - if not to Solembum - that I had to do something and it had to be soon. The magicians were preparing to begin and, from the distant sky I could see through the windows, it would not be long before dawn came to the besieged city of Feinster. I remembered enough from the original story line to know that this was not only the time when the Shade was summoned but when Oromis and Gleadr had met there ends at the hands of…it just did't even bear thinking about.

But the old Rider and dragon would not die this dawn. They would not die because of me. Thorn would not know evil from the day of his hatching because of me. A Shade would not walk these lands because of me.

I knew it was getting bad if I was imagining what should have or could have happened. This had to stop, this waiting for someone to appear just so we could wonder what to do. I stood up as best I could in the narrow space and prepared to move down towards the small opening where we had slipped through.

_Where are you going? _The were cat hissed as he slipped in front of me and met my eyes with his own fearsome yellow eyes.

_I'm going to do something Solembum, _I said as I tried to angle myself around the hissing cat with no success.

_We must wait for Angela. You do not have the skill. _

I raised one eyebrow in open amusement mixed with irritation. _I am not entirely defenceless,. I have not lived this long without learning some things, Solembum. At the heart of all magic is imagination...and I can be quite imaginative._

_Imagination can only help you so much. _

_That is true,_ I said calmly. My eyes were scanning the runes slowly being carved into the marble floor by the desperate magicians. One small slip of the hand could change their spell of summoning into something very different. It is all, reader, in the details.

I sank to my knees and pressed my hands against the stone. Trying to focus even harder, I closed my eyes and stretched out my senses towards the tumbling, churning energy that blazed from the centre of the room. I tried the grasp onto the threads of magic being cast and woven but they resisted me. No sooner would grasp one thread and try to bend it to my control then it would fly away. Such was the nature of this magic; it was dark and convoluted to begin with but the casters didn't have a clear idea of what they were doing. Their fear, confusion and paranoia only added another challenging layer to the mess of magic and energy. They were recklessly adding and combining words and energy only to smash them apart. One second I would have it under control, an inroad into the mess but then it would vanish as I realized I had forgotten another little bit.

I opened my eyes.

A headache was rapidly growing and starting to pound behind my tired eyes. I dared not look over at Solembum who I was sure would be regarding me with 'I-told-you-so' smirk. It was so frustrating and I couldn't get any of my own power into the tangled mess before me. What could I do? My original plan was useless now. Brute force or sheer power or even cleverness did not seem to be the solution in this situation. To run in with swords waving would do no good, to enter with sparks flying would only get one killed and trying to be clever just was freaking impossible when one so tired that they were having a hard time seeing straight.

My hand brushed against the cool handle of my knife. Once more it made me pause and I wondered if it could, once more, be the solution to all my problems. Runon created weapons that could cut through and withstand a wide variety of spells and wards. Would this knife be strong enough to weather the storm it would be sent into? I had no other option and the spell casters were rapidly coming closer and closer to the actual summoning of the Shade. There would be no point for any of this if I did not act soon.

Pulling myself away from the small peephole in the heavy tapestry, I crouched as best I could and began to move back down the hall. Solembum trailed after me.

_What are you doing? _

_Intervening. _

_This is not wise - I have told you before. We should wait for Angela. _

_Do you see her? _

_She is coming. _

_She is not here, _I snapped. _And, as you pointed out numerous times, we are running out of time. _

It was getting close to dawn. I did not want that dawn to shine down on a new Shade. As I stood there in the cramped, stone passage I could almost hear a clock ticking down the seconds I had left to do something. It made my heart beat faster and panic clawed at my insides.

The were cat pushed past me roughly and came between me and the open space in the wall, hidden by a tapestry, that marked the spot I could leave and renter the main corridor. Solembum's hackles were up and in the dimness of the passage his eyes gleamed like bright lamps. _You are too important, _said the werecat, _to waste your life. Wait for Angela. _

_First, _I snapped, y_ou said I couldn't interfere because I wasn't strong enough. Now it is because I am too important. Make up your mind about what I am, werecat. _I stared into the yellow eyes, _I can't wait any longer. If I wait for Angela and the spell casters succeed - which they are very close to doing - then all of this was a waste. I must do this Solembum. _

I stepped into the throne room. All my shields were up, the knife was in hand and I was totally focused. The energy whipping around made my skirt billow around me. The Lady of Feinster was still sitting very still and tense in her throne, unable to act and unwilling to leave the mad magic users to their own devices.

I made it remarkably far before one of the magicians caught sight of me. The woman let out a cry of warning and raised one hand in my direction. I tensed and froze, my hand tightening around the hilt of the blade.

One of the other magicians raised his gaze and met my own, his lips mouthing words I could not hear above the roaring that filled the chamber. I knew he was about to do something but I wasn't sure what. Whatever happened in the next spilt seconds, however, didn't matter. I had one goal and one place to be. I tensed my muscles and felt my weight settle as it does right before one jumps forward in a mad, full body leap towards something very important that one must save. It is the kind of leap that one does, reader, in a desperate attempt to save your mother's favourite china vase as it teeters on the edge of a counter top.

I almost didn't see it until it was too late.

It was a gleam in the corner of my right eye. But, somehow, I caught sight of the whip-like rope of magical energy descending towards me. One touch of that and I would be over, blasted to smithereens with nothing to show for myself but a ash like imprint of my body on the stone floor. In the few brief seconds I had to act I threw myself forward and hit the ground, feeling the burn of the dark, twisted runes through the thin material of my dress. Despite that and the screaming force of the magic, I had not lost my focus or my determination. The gleaming elvish blade sank into the centre of one of the runes and into the stone floor as if it was butter. The handle sticking out of the grey stone and burning rune was the last thing I saw before it…it hit me.

Not the magical whip. Not a sword or an arrow. It was not a material weapon or even one crafted out of magic or mental determination.

It was a force of nature, untameable, unpredictable and deadly beyond belief. There was nothing I could do but figuratively dig in my heels and weather the force of its blow. My hand clutched the handle of the knife, the only solid thing in a world suddenly blown to pieces with an explosion that rocked me to the very core of my being.

Memories spun passed my mind's eye.

_Eomund yelling something, a bloody sword in one hand and the remnants of a shattered shield in the other…_

_Mountains rising up from grasslands, their peaks snow covered and their sides heavily forested…_

_The sound of shattering glass and the feeling of my body falling, tumbling across hard marble… _

_A cold wind blowing across a snowy, barren plain of frozen grass… _

_A book spread out before me but its open, creamy pages were stained with bright red blood that made the ink letters run…_

_The still, cold face of a beautiful woman arrayed in a sparkling gown of silver and gold…_

_An old man shouting at me, fist raised in anger as he stood over the still, bloody body of a young man taken too soon from the world…_

_Pain…_

_Anger…_

Then the images and emotions shattered into a thousand and one brightly coloured pieces.

I hit the ground, rolling across the stone like a leaf in a tempest. Somewhere I heard the feral howl of a were cat and a high pitched human battle cry.

The images fled and I was suddenly able to see the scene that was unfolding before me. The elvish blade had sunk, glowing, into the solid stone and shattered the layers of spells, energy and raw power that had been erected around the pentagon. For the few brief seconds I had hung onto the handle of my knife I had been caught up in the blistering wave of _everything. _

But this wasn't over yet.

No.

It was far from over.

Angela had arrived.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Apologies for the long wait. Next chapter is in the works and will be up soon. Very special thanks to everyone who has reviewed these past weeks - I really couldn't let you down. <strong>_

_**Hope this is enjoyed! **_


	83. Reaching the End

Eragon and Saphira did not waste a moment.

The keep was an imposing structure. It was tall and square and adorned with numerous towers of differing height. The roof was made of slate, so attackers could not set it on fire. In front of the keep was a large courtyard—in which were several low outbuildings and a row of four catapults—and encircling the lot was a thick curtain wall interspersed with smaller towers of its own. Hundreds of soldiers manned the battlements and hundreds more teemed within the courtyard. The only way to enter the courtyard on the ground was through a wide, arched passageway in the curtain wall, which was closed off by both an iron portcullis and a set of thick oaken doors.

Now those doors were thrown open and the iron portcullis had been lifted enough that even Saphira could enter.

Followed by the Varden and their guards, Eragon and Saphira ran forward. The Rider automatically stretched out his mind, searching for a cause of this mysterious good fortune. Had one of Zoe's spies infiltrated the keep and gotten some soldiers to work for them? No. That was not it. Eragon found the reason for the opening of the gates not a moment later.

Horror grew within him, clawing at his insides. It was almost painful.

RORAN!

The Rider's step automatically quickened and Saphira let loose a giant roar as she realized a millisecond after her Rider did. Somehow - Eragon didn't want to know how - Roran had come to be locked in the inner keep of Feinster. The Rider, with his elven guards right behind him, did not pay attention to the flocks of whining arrows that arched back and forth over the wall. His wards protected him from them and, besides, he was moving so quickly that the human archers would have to pick up their pace if they wanted to slow him.

The Rider whipped his sword up to stop an attack as he came through the open gateway but he kept moving. He did not stop long enough to kill. He only to defended and left the bloody work to the horde of Urgals, men and dwarves a few paces behind him. Eragon kept pushing his way towards the knot of men where he had briefly caught sight of his cousin. Saphira helped, cutting an impressive path with both her terrifying bulk, snapping jaws, fire and deadly claws. Roran and his companion had managed to fight their way out of the gate house only to get themselves cornered by a wall of furious soldiers who did not know which way to turn. Most were desperately trying to slow the tide of Varden soldiers who poured in but some had focused on either getting away or on killing the two people responsible for the breeching of the keep.

Eragon slid into position just to the left of Roran who flashed him a brief gin as he parried a blow. It didn't take long before Eragon, his cousin and the dark haired young man could stand - two breathing harder than the other - beside the blood splattered wall. Around them the Varden still poured into the courtyard, filling the air with their clamorous battle-cries, and somewhere in the mess of bodies were the elves.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the Rider. His eyes took in the injuries - none of them appearing to be life-threatening - and the bloody weapon clutched tightly in his cousin's hand.

"Long story," panted Roran as he swiped a hand across his forehead. "There isn't time for it."

"You need to go," said the other young man. "Now."

Eragon turned his gaze briefly to the face of the unknown man but, before he could demand any more answers, Roran asked swiftly, "You know about the Shade?"

"Yes," said the Rider, "but Roran…"

"Then go!" said Roran. "And maybe you will find Zoe."

"What?" said both Saphira and Eragon at the same time.

"The throne room," said the young man to the right of his cousin. "Get to the throne room. The fastest way is to fly. Land on the largest tower's balcony. Dawn is coming…you are running out of time. Liana said that was where…where it would be."

"I will be fine," said Roran with a gesture towards the Varden. "Go. Please. Go, Eragon."

It took every ounce of will power for the Rider to turn away from his cousin and call for Arya who appeared at his side a split second later with the other elves.

Speaking swiftly in the ancient language Eragon instructed several of the elves to escort Roran and the other young man back to the Varden's camp and inform Brom of the recent events. The others, including Blodgarm, he told to meet him and Arya in the throne room. With nods and not a hint of dissension the elves scattered.

Leaping up into Saphira's saddle with agile grace Eragon quickly strapped himself in. Arya joined him a moment later. The Rider cast one more worried look towards the retreating back of his cousin. When this was all over the Rider would demand his cousin explain how it was that he ended up inside Feinster and, not only that, but how he had opened the gates of a heavily fortified keep.

Saphira had them halfway to the tower when a force of power suddenly pulsed through the very fabric of the world. So connected and aware mentally as to what was happening around him, Eragon felt it like a hammer blow. It was a wave of energy, pure and unrestrained power that made his vision go black and sent him tumbling through nothingness. He couldn't think or breathe or even remember who he was.

When he finally regained a sense of himself it was to find that even Saphira had been similarly affected. She had lurched sideways so suddenly and severely that they had nearly crashed into the stone wall of the keep. Tumbling ungracefully down, the dragon somehow managed to land them on the correct balcony but her muscles were shaking from the whole ordeal.

"What happened?" asked Eragon as he tried to clear his muddled head.

"I don't know," said the elf who was as pale as a white sheet. She was clutching the hilt of her sword very tightly.

_Magic, _said Saphira. _That was magic. _

_But from where? Who? Eldunari? _

_I do not know, _said Saphira with a growl. _But it was evil. _

"Zoe," said Eragon, "Roran said something about her. We need to find her."

_And the magicians, _said Saphira.

All three found it very hard to move their limbs or think about how to accomplish the task before them. The doors off the balcony before them were impossible to see through and neither the Rider or elf could sense any presence behind them. However, without a doubt this was the place they should be. The fact that the windows had been blacked out only reinforced that.

"Allow me," said Eragon as he raised his new sword. New determination filled him as he gazed at the blacked out doors that led into a room where, he was sure, a Shade was being summoned. Whatever had just happened only reinforced that they had very little time left. Magic - wild, powerful and dark - was being loosed upon the world that night. The Rider intended to stop it before it could shake the foundation of the world again.

The blue blade cut through the doors as easily as if it were cutting through butter. The second the blade touched them the star metal seemed to shatter whatever enchantments were layered upon the metal and glass structure. With the crash of shattering glass and snapping metal the doors crumbled with pieces flying outward and bouncing off Eragon, Arya's and Saphira's wards. But it wasn't just the effect of the elvish sword that caused the doors to shatter so spectacularly. The doors, enchanted as they were, could not hold out against the power unleashed inside.

Eragon cried out in alarm as he realized what was unfolding in the room before him. Saphria roared.

They had come too late.

But someone else had not.

* * *

><p>Angela had arrived.<p>

The witch was swinging her dwarves sword and there were sparks flying from her fingers, wild red hair and they trailed behind her. It was, no doubt reader, a spectacular entrance. Before I could do move or cry out or even formulate what my next step should be, I felt a seething presence suddenly launch itself at me. Darkness enveloped my vision as I turned inward to try and combat the attack.

The attack was vicious and crude. It reminded me of Durza in its pure intensity and devastating ability combined with so many varied elements and thoughts. I struggled, closing my mental walls and focusing hard on repelling it with everything I had. I tried to conquer it, smother it with my own force of will but the spirits were too clever for that old trick and too strong to remain subdued for long.

Darkness and memories once again enveloped me as I did battle on a mental field.

I could not say how long the attack lasted. It seemed so short but it also seemed incredibly long at the same time and arduous. Then, without warning or reason, it vanished. I forced my eyes open and struggled upright as I took in the remarkable scene before me.

Eragon, Saphira and Arya were frozen on the balcony, staring at the scene before them with clear horror. It was amusing and I half wanted to raise a hand and say 'Oh how nice of you to drop by - do this all the time around here.' The pentagon was shattered and the stones of the throne room were cracked and stained with black marks. Three of the magicians lay crumpled along the walls and, from the awkward angles of their bodies, they had to be dead. That, I guessed, was Angela's work. Lady Lorana was still sitting in her throne, frozen and her dress was stained with soot. Solembum and Angela were crouching in a defensive position to my right.

My gaze focused on what was happening, however, in the centre of the pentagon where my knife remained. It was there, really, that the most interesting thing of all was happening. The elvish blade was sunk to the hilt in the stone and, above it, was a twisting black shape that was almost human but not. Flashes of red, green and violent blue illuminated the twisting thing. Occasional, violent mental probes would flash out of it with the aim to attack only to fade a moment later.

It was _evil_.

I had no doubt that whatever had tried to attack me came from whatever was happening in the centre of the pentagon. What was worse was that my wildest guess of what it was was probably an accurate one. I had nearly been too late. The magicians had been far closer to completing the summoning than either Solembum or I had realized. My knife had broken the spell just in the final little bit of its completion. The head magician who had been planning on becoming a Shade had been almost - not quite - completely taken over by the spirits. Now both the spirits and the magician were caught in an in-between stage that could not last forever but seemed to have no solution either.

I looked over at Angela. To my surprise she was staring very hard at me and then, very pointedly, she pointed towards my knife in the centre of the pentagon and then towards the twisting spirits that could not either complete the process or abandon it all together. She clearly wanted me to do something about it all.

I stared in confusion at the witch. What did she want me to do?

I looked back at the knife as I tried to decipher the cryptic hand signals. I was so tired and my body ached from the force of the blows it had weathered. My thoughts were muddled and it took so much effort to even focus my thoughts. I could not do this, I whined inwardly, it would be easier to try and heard cats.

It took a great deal of effort to even focus myself a little bit on the problem before me. As I stared at the knife stupidly, randomly, no doubt a product of my weariness, I remembered my first tutor in the art of spell weaving informing me that it was possible to anchor magic to an object. The object could be darn near anything just as the…the knife had become an anchor when I…when I had thrust it into the web of power created by the Empire spellcasters.

My eyes took in the shifting form above the blade. Magic was different for me, it was something that was a part of my very blood. I could see the threads of power, energy and will that bound the elvish blade to the spirits above it. I could feel the energies that had been poured into the connection and the ancient powers that had been awoken, bound and tied to do the will of the magicians. My senses could feel the great torment, evil and hatred that emanated from the spirits caught in the magical prison. I had another way to power, a way that was not open to elves or Riders or even dragons. Not a more natural way but a way born of another world, another magic and another approach to understanding its intricacies. I had not really understood just how different that connection was until I found myself in that throne room, staring at a dagger buried to its hilt in stone and magic.

An anchor…and every anchor has a chain that ties it something and sometimes one must break the chain.

I looked back at Angela who was gazing intently at me.

The witch, I realized, wanted me to sever the threads that had become anchored to the dagger. But what would happen when those threads were severed? Would the spirits dissipate or would they attack us?

Angela, I wanted to scream, you do it!

I swallowed hard and, knowing I could not do this standing and not risk falling, I knelt. The stone was solid beneath me, a foundation that would not shift as I turned my focus from the material world to one made of energy and magic. My eyes closed but that did not mean I wasn't seeing something. I trained my mind on the web of magic that had become centred on the knife. They fought me, twisting out of my grasp and struggling away. I was losing ground, unable to keep the magic together long enough to do what needed to be done. The dark evil of the whole mess latched onto my own magic, fighting me and lessening my ability to focus long and hard enough to accomplish the job.

It was useless.

_"I have nothing Lucia," I murmured. "It is all so confusing…I think I have already lost. _

_Lucia was staring at me with those bright blue eyes."Make choices that we can both live with."_

_I felt my phantom sister's words cut far deeper than any words I had heard these past weeks. My sister's words had been intended as a slap to push me beyond my limits when I thought I couldn't possibly be pushed any further. It was the kind of brutality that was borne of the love of a sibling, and I had already spent too many years making choices that had disappointed Lucia._

I forced myself to try a little harder, to fight a little more. I gathered together the magical threads and, in the brief millisecond I had them under control, I concentrated my power and slashed it down on the magic.

CRACK!

The second that the threads were severed another explosion rocked the throne room. I felt the vibrations through the stone and the sound was deafening.

_Who are you? _

The voice - no voices - echoed through my mind. They were not human nor the other voices that had guided me before when I had gone in search of Thorn's egg and the trunk in the Empire's camp during the Battle of the Burning Plains. These were spirits, I realized in horror - the very spirits that the spell casters had summoned to create a Shade. I could feel them pressing in around me. They were not kind nor were they grateful for being set free. These were not the bright, kind flashing lights that Eragon and Arya had met in the desert. No. They were dark, evil and twisted. They had come very close to be imprisoned in the body of the magician and it angered them.

_What does it matter to you? _I asked. I was fighting to stay calm.

_You have rocked the very foundations of the world, _hissed the spirits. _You have attracted powers that have slept for decades and broken the rules that govern this land…What are you? Why have you done this? _

_I am not anything. _

They never replied. As quickly as I they had surrounded me, they vanished. I was not sure if they had been giving me a warning or not. There words, however, chilled me to very core of my being. What powers had I attracted? What rules had I broken? The voices that guided me and the woman in white all sprang to mind but I suspected that I was not really putting things together. I was missing something that was crucial to the story line but, the second I seemed on the point of remembering or finding that piece, it slipped away.

I had broken so many rules. I had attracted so many unwanted eyes and opinions. What now? What new consequences would I be forced to face for my actions?

"Zoe?" said a very worried and very uncertain voice in the sudden stillness. It was Eragon's voice.

I looked up from my position on the floor. Eragon, Arya and Saphira had not moved from their place on the balcony. They were staring from me to Angela to the scorched mark of the pentagon where the knife still remained, sunk to the hilt in stone.

I wondered - not for the first or the last time - what in the world I was going to say to them. I could not explain this, I thought, just as Saphira could not explain how she used magic and it would do them no good to hear the words of the spirits. I would have to tell them something and there was many other things to speak of such as my time in Feinster, my were cat and witch arranged rescue. Brom would need reassuring, Nasuada would need a report, Marco would need an apology, Eragon an explanation and Solembum and Angela a thank you.

"Eragon," I said in a slightly hoarse voice as I stood. It took a great deal of self-discipline to resign myself to what awaited me in the coming hours. All I wanted to do was sleep; bury myself in the comfort of oblivion, but that was not my lot and it never would be at the rate I was going. I pulled on a smile, quashed my inner-whining and complaining self beneath the full weight of my exhaustion.

* * *

><p>Lady Lorana of Feinster waited in council room for the arrival of Nasuada, Leader of the Varden, and her second in command.<p>

Absently she drummed her fingers on the polished wood of the long table. She had refused to have any of her own councillors present at the meeting, her pride would not let her and she did not think their open fear would do anything to improve the situation. It was ironic, really, how she had to be the strong one now when, as a young ruler, she had endured countless tests and jabs related to her strength of character, her fortitude and her resilience.

She had heard many things about Nasuada and she hoped, right then, that most of them were false Empire fabrications designed to make the woman sound like a monstrous dictator. The Lady knew well what often happened to rulers overthrown by an invading army and, while she was quite prepared to accept her own end, she hoped that Feinster would receive a better fate. She expected Nasuada to do what was necessary, Lady Lorana had ever been a practical woman and she knew that Nasuada must be ruthlessly practical.

In an effort to distract herself from the grimness of the rapidly approaching meeting, the Lady turned her thoughts to the events that had occurred in the throne room. The actions of the Empire magicians had horrified her. It was a moment in time she was not likely to ever forget neither was the dazzling, terrifying display of magical power by a girl who had masqueraded as a maid in the Lady's own keep. To control such power and hide it so completely…the Lady could only wonder.

The Rider, thought the Lady, had been polite to her when the chaos and confusion settled down enough for him, his gleaming sapphire dragon and the silent elf to approach. It was partly because of him that the Lady was able to keep control of her panic and make the necessary arrangements to meet with Nasuada to discuss the terms of a peace. The 'discuss' part, however, was really just a polite phrase. The Varden were in complete control of Feinster and could do whatever they pleased.

The sound of many pairs of feet in the corridor outside made the Lady instantly straighten, her fingers ceased their drumming.

Lady Lorana of Feinster could only hope and cling to the last shreds of dignity and power that she had inherited from her forebears. They would not have cowered before the Varden and neither would she.

* * *

><p>As the dawn broke I stared out at the slowly lightening horizon.<p>

Absently I rubbed at the abrasions on my right wrist from the rough manacle that had been crudely slapped around it. It was nice to be away for a short time from everyone. There had been too much fussing, too many questions and I wasn't in the right space to give anyone any answers. It was comforting, in the very least, to have the familiar weight of my weapons after so long without them. Angela had laughingly told me that she had had to very nearly threaten Roran who had been originally charged with returning them to me safely. I had thanked the young man when I saw him briefly and commended both him and Marco on their courage both in their attempt to find me and in their opening of the keep gates.

The story had changed.

It had changed before but this…this night had been such a significant change although you might beg to disagree with me. Oromis and Glaedr still lived. They were still unknown, hidden away in the emerald forests and Murtagh was there to, safe and sound with a Thorn uncorrupted by dark magic. Arya was not a Shadeslayer and, while both she and Eragon looked significantly worse for wear, there was a chance for them and perhaps that chance would save them both from the all consuming blackness of destruction.

The sun still rises in the east, I told myself. There is still a sky above your head and ground beneath your feet.

You are still here, reader.

I rose. I could feel the approaching mind of a page boy and, from a brief mental glance, I knew he had come to find me. A few seconds to myself, a little space to think on my own terms but it could not last. It had not lasted for long when I was a Captain in a working army or a Crown Princess and it wouldn't last now.

"Lady Zoe," said the breathless young voice behind me.

I turned and stopped, a sudden smile coming to my face as I recognized the page. It was the boy from Carvahall, the one I had talked to so long ago just after the Battle of the Burning Plains. His face was streaked with dirt and his uniform bloodied but his eyes were bright and clear. I wished that he was safely away from this scene of devastation - he was too young. There was something, however, about seeing this bright young face that distracted me from the worst of my gloom. I couldn't be miserable and cynical around a child even if he was a page running errands around a devastated city.

"Hello," I said, "I remember you."

A bright pink flush crept up his cheeks, "Really, miss?"

"Yes," I said as I stood and walked over to where he stood, a respectful five feet away. "Its lovely to see you again." I rested one of my grimy, bruised hands on his shoulder, "Where are you to take me?"

"To Lady Nasuada," said the boy as we began to move away. "She has spoken to Lady Lorana of Feinster and wished to speak with you now."

I was about to speak again when a voice called out behind us, "ZOE!"

Both the page boy and I spun, with one hand I yanked him in front of me just in case I had to defend us both. It was then that I realized it was Angela, puffing hard as if she had run a great distance, that had cried out my name. I straightened from my defensive pose and released my tight grip around the hilt of my sword.

"Angela?" I asked as she came up to us. "Whatever is the matter?"

Angela gripped my upper arm with bruising strength.

"Come on," she said worriedly. "There isn't any time. You must come now."

"What is happening?" I asked as a bubble of fear and worry rapidly formed within me.

What now? Where now must I rush?

"Boy," said Angela to the page, "you are dismissed. I will take the Lady Zoe on from here." Before either the page or I could say anything, Angela yanked me forward and into a run.

"Explain," I said angrily as I was forced into a mad dash like run.

"No time," said Angela as she gasped for air. We were full on running now and, while Angela was light on her feet, her breathing was loud and heavy. Back through the streets of Feinster, then through corridors and hallways we dashed and I barely had time or energy to wonder exactly where we were going. Perhaps if I had had more energy I would have realized we were going back to the throne room and perhaps I might have been more prepared for something shocking or frightening.

But I wasn't ready at all.

Angela and I stopped before the shattered wooden doors. The room was just as destroyed as it had been an hour and half before when I stood in it with Saphira, Eragon, Arya, Angela and Solembum. The black marks looked even darker, the half legible runes looked even more evil and the air felt even heavier in the faint glow of dawn then they had during the pitch black of night.

Solembum was sitting on the remnants of the throne. He was staring very intently at what remained of the pentagon. The flagstones had been cracked and shattered but there was still a small section of them that was intact. Lying still and unmoving upon the stone was a limp body.

"What?" I asked as I took half a step forward. I was already scanning for injuries, searching the limp body for any signs of identification. Was it Marco? The face was turned away from me but I could see that the person was dark haired, their clothes were fine but sturdy black and they wore a sword on their left hip. All these details I took in with half-awareness, confusion making it impossible for me to connect the dots and understand.

"Careful," said Angela worriedly from behind me.

I stepped carefully through the wreckage and around or over the still slightly glowing lines carved in the buckled floor. When I came close to the unconscious body I stretched out my bruised, aching mind and searched for a flicker of life or thought. All I found was blank, hard walls. The man - for the person was male - was alive but his mental shield was just as implacable as my own. My heart beat was pounding loudly in my ears. There was no sign of an insignia on his cloak or quiver. That isn't unusual, said a voice in my mind, you don't have one either and so why would he have one?

A half-forgotten voice murmured in my head: You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you will be alone.

But that didn't seem true anymore. For a half horrifying and half panicked theory was beginning to form in my fuzzy mind. With one shaking hand I reached out and gently rolled the limp body over.

Part of me wanted to scream another part of me wanted to cry and still another felt like pounding the walls until someone - anyone - explained just how the world and worlds worked. I did none of those things. I just knelt there, one hand resting on the exposed wrist of the man where my sensitive fingertips could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his pulse. I did not raise my head when I felt the presence of Arya, Brom, Eragon, Saphira and the elven spell casters arrive at the entrance to the throne room. I could not even formulate a reply to the questions that my friends and comrades directed at me. I was numb. Words had completely fled me and so had the ability to move.

I was looking down into the face of one my dearest relatives and friends. A person who I had not seen in what seemed like centuries. This was someone I had counted on in more than one situation and whose steadiness of hand and head had saved me more than once. And he was here.

Here.

"Oh Taren," I murmured into the quietness that had descended around the two of us. "What now?"

* * *

><p>The red haired woman watched the scene unfolding before her.<p>

She had lived longer then anyone knew.

She had seen civilizations rise and fall and rise again, she and lived through the best and worst of this world's history. In the course of her long life, she had made mistakes, and while it was not in her nature to apologize for what she had done, there were things she would have done differently.

The witch looked around her.

She was standing beside the Rider and his blue dragon. The elves to her left, Brom standing very close to his warrior son and Solembum was still crouching on the throne-like chair. The girl, Zoe, was kneeling beside the limp body of her unconscious cousin. The girl she had known and watched just as she had watched the boy, the Rider, grow and change although watching the girl had been harder and more sporadic especially during the Dark Days.

And, while others may have been worried, she wasn't in the slightest. It would take more than this to truly and deeply worry her. This just…merely surprised her a little.

_I hope you know what your are doing_, she thought out loud to the silent presences she felt in the room. She knew they could hear her. _I hope you know how easy it is to break things._

* * *

><p><strong><em>This is the end of 'Zoe.'<em>**

**_Don't panic! Or start cheering with relief! Or start complaining! This is NOT the end of the story but I feel that this particular fan fiction is quite long enough and it is time to begin fresh. When I have decided what the title of the new fic will be I will post it in a new chapter here. _**

**_Thank you. Thank you to all the amazing and thoughtful people who took the time to stop by, read, think and maybe even respond to what I wrote. This story would never have gotten anywhere without out all of you. Zoe and I am forever in your debt. _**

**_The happiest of holidays to you all. I hope this season brings you joy and happiness wherever you are. _**


	84. Empire

_**Hello! **_

_**The title of the sequel to 'Zoe' for all those who would like to read it is: 'Empire.' **_

**_Enjoy!_**

**_luckyponygirl _**


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